Cigarette Daydreams
by suicidal.stolen.art
Summary: Percy, a broken runaway with a beautiful voice, lives on the streets of Paris and is on the run from a violent past. But when he meets a mafia-princess named Annabeth, his life is thrown once again into pandemonium. A tale of romance, recovery, and redemption. Mortal AU
1. Girl In Red

**CHAPTER 1: GIRL IN RED**

PERCY

Paris in deep winter looked like an unfinished painting. Shrouded in snow and thick mist, the deep red ochre of the houses around this area showed through the city's white canvas in impressionistic splashes of vibrance. The air was so crisp, I could watch the pale haze of my breathing billow away on the breeze.

I loved it here. Over the past seven years of running, out of the myriad of places I'd stayed, I had to admit that France had grown on me the most. Travelling was relatively simple, especially in Paris with its Métro system. There were plenty of old, abandoned places where I could squat. Even the language was nice; it was gorgeously ardent and easy to understand. Although I wasn't quite fluent, I was getting there.

Now I was reluctant to leave, even though I'd stayed still for too long already. False documents and false identities could only get you so far. And cities were a risk—there were cameras everywhere, their cold eyes hard and unblinking. One slip-up, and the past I had spent nearly half my life running from would return to drag me down again.

Across the city, I watched the sunrise. It crested, a flame-red flower blossoming on the horizon. Sharp shards of crimson sliced through the now-brightening sky. It was beautiful, I supposed, but every new sunset's arrival reminded me of my dwindling borrowed time.

Days were slipping through my outstretched fingers faster than I could seize them, each second a fine grain of sand rushing through an hourglass.

I dragged my feet as my thoughts spiralled, eyes trained on the ground. With every step, my dirty trainers stained a new, muddy footprint into the once white fresh snowfall. I should leave the day after tomorrow, after I'd gathered my things and re-dyed my hair. I would have to ask Helene for an early paycheck from the café.

By the time I'd finally crossed into the poorer fringes and suburbs of outer Paris, my fingers were blue from cold. I knotted them in the slightly-too-long sleeves of my jacket and tucked them under my arms. It was hard not to shiver.

I was a block away from my most recent home when it began to snow again. At first, the flakes remained gentle and fragile, but it wasn't long until the wind picked up and the snow cascaded down in great, choking sheets, drenching my clothes all the way through to my icy skin.

Soon enough, I made it to the entrance of my decrepit apartment building—a fire escape. The metal railings were laced with frost and freezing under my scarred hands, so I pulled my sleeves down to my palms so as not to touch the metal. I pulled myself onto the platform and started up the ladder, ignoring the unsettling way it swayed beneath my weight. I soon reached my apartment, the penultimate floor.

 _Apartment,_ I supposed, was a generous word to use to describe the place I squatted. I lived in one room, and there was no glass in the windows. A mangy, stained carpet sat stagnant on the floorboards and a small camping stove was shoved against the wall. If I wanted to take a piss, I had to go in the café restrooms two streets over. There was no bed frame but two mattresses lay on the ground a few feet apart. One of them was mine, but the other belonged to my friend, Piper.

She and I had met just six months ago when I'd first arrived here looking for someplace to stay. Piper was a struggling musician, and recently things had become so bad that she was reduced to busking on the streets—with the occasional gig in cafés and whichever bar would have her.

As soon as we met, we saw something kindred in each other—a pair of society's castaways. Although we never talked about our respective pasts, nowadays we were usually joint at the hip. Piper and I had a silent agreement: stay out each other's issues, but watch each other's back.

Just as homelessness pushed people apart, it also forced them together.

It was freezing—even within the apartment—so I left on my jacket and shoes. I threw myself down on my mattress and turned onto my back to stare up at the ceiling, tracing the jagged cracks with my eyes and subconsciously finding shapes in the worn plaster. I traced a cloud. A dog. A sword. Letting my mind wander, I pulled out the Jack Daniels cigarette case in my back pocket that had used to be my mom's and lit up a fag. I didn't even take a drag for a few moments, just allowed the cigarette's familiar weight between my fingers to soothe my unquiet thoughts. I placed it between my lips and breathed in, then out. The chalky smoke drifted up in curling white fingers towards the ceiling.

I startled when a harsh _clank_ sounded outside. It was followed by a repeated thumping noise—someone was ascending the ladder. Nobody else except Piper and I knew about the route up here—when the building had fallen into disrepair, all the other doors had been sealed—so I assumed it was her.

Sure enough, half a minute later Piper McLean poked her dark-haired head in, hefting a guitar case behind her. Her eyelashes were white with snowflakes and her grey jacket was soaked through. A bitter scowl tore at her mouth. " _Je le déteste_ ," she muttered— _I hate him_ —as she clambered in through the window sill. She landed square on the balls of her feet and dug out her flip phone, already typing away.

I propped myself up on my elbows to watch in amusement, raising my cigarette to my lips as my friend paced back and forth.

" _Il est_ … _Il est_ …" Piper gave a guttural groan of frustration and threw her phone down as hard as she could on the mattress. She backed into the wall and slid down it with a heaving sigh, plopping onto the floor. She stretched her legs out before her and looked me straight in the eye. Piper's voice was thickly accented, her words halting as she switched from French to English; it was her second language. I'd helped her learn this year. "Percy, why are men such arrogant idiots?"

I blew smoke across the room at her. She scowled, flapping a hand to disperse it. "Couldn't tell you," I replied in English. "Is this about Marceau?"

Piper didn't answer the question, just held out a hand, palm up, and beckoned. "Cigarette, please." I obliged and tossed her one. She lit it herself with a baby pink lighter. Only once she'd smoked it for a moment, finding a rare bliss, did she acknowledge the question. Piper leant her head against the wall and closed her eyes and said, "Marceau d'Arco is a lying, cheating piece of _merde_." She lowered her voice and muttered darkly, " _J'espère qu'il mourra seul…_ " _I hope he dies alone._

I rolled my eyes and replied in French: "I told you he wasn't worth it."

Piper smirked, following suit in the same tongue. "No man is, apparently." She stared at her cigarette for a second, transfixed by the faintly glowing embers. She tapped it on her knee, sprinkling loose ash. "You know, I performed for the _Les Cariatides_ bar owner today. Asked if he'd hire me to sing Tuesday evenings."

"He like your voice?"

"Yeah. I thought he was going to sign me, too, but then his wife walked in and threw a fit when she saw my track marks." She raised her arm in emphasis, where under the tatty fabric of her coat there was a myriad of dark, inflamed scars outlining her veins. "Well, she just _couldn't_ have an addict 'staining their reputation.'"

I winced. "Sorry. I know you wanted the job."

Piper fidgeted with her cigarette. " _Je m'en fiche._ "

I decided not to press. "So, you'll be here for a while longer, yeah?"

Piper's mouth quirked in a smile. "Mhmm. Gonna live out the rest of my pathetic life here with you." She cocked her head and pretended to think. "Although, I do get free fags every time I see you. It's like you've got an infinite supply." She grinned, saluting me with her cigarette. "It isn't all bad. Even if this _is_ a shit-hole."

I feigned hurt. "Hold on, shit-hole? Pfft, I don't know what you're talking about." I sat up straight and gestured around. "This place is clearly the height of luxury."

Piper laughed. "Yeah, right. Luxury. It's luxury for pigs."

"Not everyone was a rich brat in their youth, McLean." I snorted derisively. "At least we've got a room."

Piper dodged the low blow. "We're squatting. This isn't even a room, this is a graveyard waiting to happen." She shivered and glanced up. "The roof could collapse on us right now and nobody would ever know."

"Whatever. This is nice compared to some places I've stayed."

Piper went quiet at the offhand mention of my past and said nothing more. Then she seemed to remember something. She stuck her cigarette in the corner of her mouth and, reaching over her legs, pulled her guitar case towards her. She unclasped it and flipped it open, heaving out her guitar.

After a second of fiddling with the tuning pegs, she adjusted her grip and began to play. Her fingers, rubbed red and raw from plucking and strumming nylon strings every day for hours on end, started their intricate dance across the fretboard. Piper began to coax a gorgeous melody out of the guitar, head bouncing along. The notes swam through my every heartstring, each one more overwhelmingly innocent and beautiful than the last.

I recognised the song; it was the guitar instrumental of _Reason To Love You,_ a song we'd written together. I was good with lyrics as my mom, Sally, had always liked to play the piano and sing anywhere she could when we'd been on the run. She could never write the novel she'd always wanted to have published, so she wrote songs instead. I remember the long days of travelling, just after we'd first disappeared, when we'd sit together on buses and trains and write lyrics together in her notebook. The sound of my mom's singing and the soft, worn texture of her notebook's leather against my fingertips was one I would carry with me for the rest of my life.

I allowed Piper's playing to wash over me, the swelling chords burning in the back of my throat. The lyrics clawed against my lips, begging to be let out.

And when there came a lull in the song, I obliged them, beginning on the hook.

" _Why would you stay when I wasn't your first? Why would you kiss me when I was your worst? Why did I give you my heart, when it was mine? Why did I think we could stand the test of time?"_ My voice cracked with the strain and emotion, but it sounded like a musician's vice.

Piper's eyes lit up. It'd been a long time since we'd played together, and she cut in with ardour. The English words didn't come naturally to her, and they were thick in her mouth, but that somehow made the song sound strangely enchanting. She came in on a high note. " _My darling, I love you, why don't you care? You know that for you, I stripped soul and body bare. My darling, I miss you, why won't you return? Just afford me an answer, it's all I deserve!"_

Piper's voice was crystal clear and shone like glass. She had a way of cutting the listener into pieces and then sewing them back together with her singing. She gestured for us to sing together, and we did, harmonising the chorus. _"Give me a reason to smile again! Give me a memory to never forget. Give me a kiss that'll set me alight. Look after my heart for me, keep me alive!_

" _Give me the reason why you upped and left. Give me the reason you said I was best. I'll give you a chance; just say why you lied. Because when you ran, you know, part of me died…"_ Piper laughed aloud, despite the song's sorrow, evoking a new, lilting melody from her guitar I hadn't heard before. She looked so elated, I was reminded of why she wanted to become a musician so badly.

" _Remember that day I swore to stay, together or apart? Remember that evening we danced in bar after bar? Remember that night we slept right under the stars?"_

" _You can't just say you love me, then forget about the scars…About the scars, and my broken heart…"_

In the last verse, our voices dipped low and quiet. Piper's hand stilled flat against her guitar strings, silencing them, letting our voices seize the limelight. Only I sang the lyrics — Piper simply vocalised. Our different styles complimented the song.

" _Give me a reason to love you again. Remember those nights that I'll never forget? I'll find you a ring that'll bind you to me; forget about reason, it'll work, you wait and see…"_ The song ended. I trailed off with a final fervent note that hung in the cool, smoke-riddled air. Several heartbeats later, I realised I'd forgotten to breathe.

Piper laughed. She didn't even sound tired. "That was amazing!" she said. "Jackson, you have to sing with me tonight in the bar. We should be a duo. _S'il vous plaît!_ Please!"

A grin split my face as I nodded. I'd hardly remembered what a perfect catharsis music was for me. Right then, anyone could have asked me to come conquer the world with them, and I would've agreed.

* * *

We pulled up to the bar, our cab's wheels screeching on the snow-slick gravel road. " _Merci_ ," I smiled, pouring a fistful of change into the driver's outstretched palm. Piper and I clambered out, slamming the doors behind us, and the car sped off into the night.

Piper bumped my shoulder as we stepped onto the sidewalk, adjusting her guitar behind her. "You ready?" she asked in French. Her lipstick was darker than tar and her eyelids were coated in a shimmering, almost holographic silver that set off her vibrant eyes. She wore her signature, slightly trashy black dress that was slit to the waist, and her bare neck was strapped with a simple matching choker. Even despite the ugly red track marks on her forearms, she looked incredible. Every inch the performer I knew she was made to be.

I swallowed my nerves. "Born ready," I lied. Fidgeting with the hem of my suit, I stared up at the run-down bar. Dozens of Friday-night clubbers staggered in through the door, laughing and chattering, a drink clutched in one hand and a friend in the other.

Piper grinned. "Come on," she said. "Let's go make them love us."

We strode in with the crowds. The inside of the bar was just as derelict as the outside, but that somehow worked in its favour—the general worn, second-hand quality of the place created a unique quirk and vintage allure. Dozens of chairs and tables were congregated around the perimeter of the bar, surrounding a makeshift dance floor. Several old-fashioned jukeboxes lined the walls and a large stage was raised at the front, but no one was performing just now. At 10:45, that was where we would sing.

Piper swept past me, squealing. She flat-out ran towards the bar counter where a barmaid had leapt over the table to get to her, knocking over several wine glasses in the process. " _Oh mon Dieu!_ Roxanne!" The pair of girls flew at each other and melted into a tight hug.

Roxanne laughed aloud. "McLean! Jesus, it's been forever. How're you holding up?" She smoothed down her nimbus of thick black curls, a shy smile tugging at her mouth. "You look beautiful, by the way." To my surprise, Roxanne sounded American. Like me, she wasn't Parisian.

Piper blushed. "I'm good, thanks. You look amazing too." She switched to English for the barmaid, although I figured Roxanne would probably speak at least a little French anyway if she worked here.

I stepped in beside them both, brow cocked. "Pipes, who's this?" I asked.

Roxanne cut in before Piper could reply. "My name's Roxanne. You're American too?" She gestured loosely at her mouth, meaning my accent. Her lips were dusted gold, as were her bare, brown shoulders.

I nodded, returning her warm smile. "Yeah. I've only been staying in Paris for six months." It was true, actually. I _was_ American; I'd lived in New York seven years ago, before Mom and I ran. Even if my false documents did currently say I'd been born in Paris.

Roxanne grinned. "Neat. What's your name? Are you a friend of Piper's?"

"I'm Percy," I answered. "And yeah, I guess. We met when I first arrived in Paris."

"He's performing with me," Piper supplied. She patted her guitar lovingly. "I need an extra voice for the songs I'd like to do, and Percy is amazing."

Roxanne folded her arms, smiling. "Oh, really?" She tossed her hair and met my eyes. "I bet you're not as good as me."

"Oh, he's not," Piper said in all seriousness. I gasped, feigning offence, and we all laughed. Roxanne offered us a couple free beers, but I declined—I didn't drink. I had too many secrets to risk it, and anyway I hated to lose control. Piper grabbed Roxanne's arm and dragged her off to the dance floor, laughing. I watched them with a sad smile as they danced together, spinning around each other like two planets caught in orbit, destined for chaotic, beautiful collision.

I wondered what the history was between those two.

Someone tapped my shoulder. I tensed and spun around, startled. My fingers instinctively curled into a fist.

A young man stood behind me. His hair was black. His hands were adorned with several silver rings, and both his right ear and brow were studded. When he brushed a fallen lock of hair out of his eyes, I blanched. His irises were red—darkly crimson, like distilled blood.

He smiled, and I was seized by the desire to turn away from his face. Though he was good-looking, his features were too rigid. His face was a mess of thick, sprawling lines and deep contours, his lips dark and curved. To look at him was like staring into a spotlight.

" _Salut_ ," the young man said, extending a ringed hand for me to shake.

After a heartbeat's hesitation, I accepted it. It was cold as death beneath mine. I recognised him, I swear to God. " _Bonjour,_ " I answered, voice hesitant as I summoned the French. " _Désolé, on se connaît?_ " _Sorry, do we know each other?_

The stranger smirked and switched easily to English. "Don't remember me, pretty boy?"

Everything clicked. I stumbled back, trying to ignore the hammering in my heart. "Cupid—what are you doing here?"

Cupid laughed. "I could ask the same." His voice was heavily accented, almost italicised. "Well, I'm not here for you, if that's what you're asking." He inclined his head, baring his pearl-white teeth in a dangerous grin. "Though it's nice to bump into a childhood friend."

Digging my nails into my palms, I gave a sour laugh. My whole body was tense. I wanted to kill this jerk. "Wow, you're still the same bitchy little kid I remember. Seven years and you haven't changed at all."

"What, changed like this?" He reached up and tugged on a strand of my muted red hair. I slapped his hand away in disgust and he chuckled. "That dye job's pretty good, Jackson. Did you do it yourself?"

I rolled my eyes and studied him with contempt. "Why're you really here, then? Still leashed to your daddy?" I sneered. "Do you still run around getting your hands dirty for him?"

He waved a hand, unfazed. "That's family business. It's nothing to concern you." His eyes gleamed cruelly. "Speaking of family, how's your mother?"

A cold, killing calm washed over me. I stepped forward and hissed, "Shut your mouth before I punch it shut."

Cupid had the nerve to laugh. "Down, dog. It's not my fault your darling mommy offed herself—"

Seething, I swung at him, a thousand profanities roaring inside my head. My knuckles smacked against bone, against tender lip. Cupid staggered, clutching his cheek. Massaging his jaw, he slowly drew himself up, a violent smile stretched across his face. "Oh, Jackson. You shouldn't have done that."

I snarled, "Why not, asshole?"

"Because," he said, voice sweet as honey, dripping with a threat barely contained, "right now, our enemies are the same. I have no reason to whisper about you, bunny. Yet."

A cool, liquid fear pooled in my lungs. I swallowed it. "Cupid, I…I'm not caught up in that anymore. I've cut my ties. I'm clean."

"Oh, you are?" He shrugged exaggeratedly, smile toxic. "So you learnt an entirely new language for the hell of it? You crossed continents for fun? You say you're not running from anything, bunny. So are you meaning to tell me," he leant close, and I suddenly could not shake the feeling of being cornered, "that you really just like the look of this lovely red hair and those perfect silicon blue eyes? That you don't wear them to cover your natural green and black?"

I twitched, trying to check my flight response. Cupid was now so close I could see the greenish bruise forming where I'd punched him. He took my collar in his hand, pulling me close, and knotted his fingers deep into the fabric. Slowly, he leaned forward next to my ear. I tensed. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to flee.

Cupid was silent for just a few seconds, but—as frozen as I was in my terror—it felt like hours. When he finally spoke, the words were low, dangerous, their warning implicit. His breath was disgustingly hot against my jaw. "You smell of war and running, Jackson. He'll sniff you out eventually. Mark my words." With a serpentine smile, Cupid stepped back. Inclining his head in mock respect, he melted back into the crowd.

I realised I'd been forgetting to breathe. With a shuddering gasp, I tried to control my breathing, curling my scarred hands into fists so they wouldn't shake. I'd run out of time. I was going to get caught. _He_ was going to find me, I knew it—

Someone said my name, and I turned to find Piper and Roxanne standing behind me. They were smiling, oblivious, their eyes alight. Piper's arm was curled around Roxanne's waist, a thumb hooked neatly through her belt loop. "So, it's nearly eleven."

I said nothing, but glanced up at the stage. It was empty. Waiting. "It's, uh…it's time, huh?"

Roxanne grinned up at Piper, pulling her close for a moment. "You'll be amazing," she murmured. Then, disentangling herself from Piper, she took my shoulders and shook me hard, fire in her eyes. "You got this, Jackson. Don't be a wimp." I squared my shoulders, trying not to look helpless.

Piper smiled gratefully at Roxanne, then turned to me. "Alright, let's go," Piper said, adjusting her guitar case on her shoulder. Together, we headed toward the stage.

* * *

" _Bonsoir à tous! Prochaine performance: Piper McLean et Percy Jackson!"_

I peeked from backstage. No one was paying attention anyway, thank God. Everything was going to be fine.

I turned to Piper, who was busy tuning her guitar. "Do I look okay?" I asked.

Piper nodded distractedly, barely sparing me a glance. She pressed an ear against her guitar's wooden body as she fiddled with the pegs, turning them expertly this way and that. "Mhmm. You look good. Okay," she gave a satisfied smile. "I think that's alright. Are your hands warmed up enough?"

"Yeah."

"Ready to get out there?"

"...Yeah."

Piper punched my arm playfully. "No need to be so nervous. Just have a good time. They're not paying us much for this, you know." She laughed, reaching up to smooth down my unruly hair. Then, without warning, she walked out onto the stage.

I hurried to follow, plastering a show business smile on my face. I looked out at the audience, squinting against the dazzlingly bright stage lights. Most of the audience paid our arrival no heed, either unbothered by the music or too drunk to care, but a small fraction clapped politely. One screamed, "McLean!"It sounded like Roxanne.

A keyboard waited centre stage. I sat down at it, tilting the microphone toward my chin level.

Piper adjusted her own mic, smiling and chatting to the audience, who laughed along with each joke. She was good at this. I stayed silent, content to be secondary. Flexing my fingers, I placed my hands gently on the keyboard, shifting my feet on the electric pedals. I took a few deep breaths and looked up at Piper, ready for a cue. Then, when she quietly counted us in: " _Un, deux, trois, quatre,"_ I began to play.

The song started tentatively, my fingers barely brushing the keys, cautiously shallow. I played, and Piper strummed and sang—her gorgeous, swelling trill cut ribbons through the air, spiralling higher and higher with each verse. My hands roamed this ivory sea of black and white, coaxing out a vibrant, easy melody. My heart sat in my throat. I could hardly breathe.

I came in. My voice joined hers, the French words full and rich on my tongue. Adrenaline licked the walls of my veins; it took all my effort to not speed up, to stay in tempo. Eventually, we fell into the music.

For the first song, I didn't look up from the keyboard, even for a second. Though the bar wasn't _that_ full, it felt as though a hundred thousand eyes were on me, finding my faults, stripping me down in front of them. It wasn't until partway through the second that I dared glance up and acknowledge the audience. When I did, it wasn't that bad. Some people just watched, most danced, and others laughed and smiled at us, bobbing their heads to the rhythm as they sipped their drinks.

We played song after song and though the clubbers became drunker and drunker with every one, they still seemed to love us. I gained a little confidence, even making some witty comments between songs. My voice was straining a bit, but I sang louder than ever. It was the good kind of strain, anyway.

After what felt like lifetimes we finally reached our last song. When Piper announced that our gig was nearly over, we were rewarded by raucous cheering, clapping and cries of " _Non, continuer!" No, carry on!_

Dozens of new people were congregating at the foot of our stage. Some staggered, dancing drunkenly, raising their cups in salute. I couldn't contain a smile. Despite all this endless running, I'd finally found my scene.

Piper took off her guitar, ducking her head as she pulled off the strap. Removing the mic from the stand, she blew a kiss across the bar to where Roxanne leaned against the counter. Roxanne caught it, pressing her lips against her fingers where the air-kiss had landed.

A red-hot blush blossomed on the tips of Piper's ears. I winked at Roxanne, stifling a laugh. She winked back.

This time, I counted us in, and we plunged into the final song. It was slow, gorgeously lyrical. Every word was thick with assonance. The piano accompaniment was simple; my hands drifted over the keys, entirely certain. And my voice was as sure as my hands—my pitch dipped low, then high, mimicking the rise and fall of a feather caught in a fluctuating breeze. As I sang, my eyes drifted over the audience.

I saw her then.

A girl, swathed in a sleek red dress. It was ragged and ruined, torn to her hip.

My heart twisted in my chest. Those eyes. Bitterly grey, they were like liquid steel, sharp as unyielding ice. I hated them, I loved them, I couldn't decide. It was easier to look at the silken, pale blonde of her riotous hair, twisted loosely in a careless bun aside her cheek. A gorgeous, black ink tattoo sleeve hugged the outside of her left arm—a curling wing.

She looked right at me. Her gaze cut me to pieces, but I'd be damned if I'd look away. A shifting beam of limelight lit up her face in a haze of gold, catching on her lashes. They were delicate and white as death. So feather-like, they framed and softened the cruel severity that was her eyes.

Her face was half shadow, a masquerade of harsh contours and angled planes—but her full, doll lips shattered the illusion. Against her slashing jaw and cheekbones, they looked out of place, a blossom of innocent beauty in the girl's unkind face.

I knew without a doubt that she was not beautiful. No. In her shoulders, her mouth, in the lines of her face lay the tightness of pain and weariness. In her clenched, bruised knuckles there was a silent threat. I was afraid to smile at her. I was afraid to want her. I was afraid _of_ her.

 _She is not beautiful,_ I said to myself. _She is forbidden. Look away._ And I did, tearing my gaze from hers. A cool flood of relief washed through me.

Piper and I finished the song, and the audience screamed our praises, a crescendo of applause: _"Je t'aime! Je t'aime!"_ But amidst the chaos, the girl in red didn't clap. She was stone silent.


	2. Death Pool

**CHAPTER 2: DEATH POOL**

ANNABETH

I kicked open the bar doors, furiously tearing my hair loose from its bun. Snow crunched beneath my high heels as I stepped out into the bitter winter air.

It was past midnight now, and the city of Paris was alive. Cars rushed past, headlights brash against the darkness. Some went so quickly they became nothing but metallic streaks of black and red and silver. Small, gentle flakes of snow drifted down in whorls from the dark clouds above, tossed this way and that by the wind. The frigid air enveloped me and I let out a shuddering breath, hands flying up to cradle my bare arms. "God," I muttered. Today had been nothing but pain and now I was exhausted. I wanted to sleep, but hell—I didn't want to dream.

It took every ounce of my will not to glance behind me. Behind me, to the warm bar and the drunken dancing and the young man with the beautiful voice. The way he'd looked at me, equal parts terrified and fascinated…it had killed me when he'd finally looked away, my face forgotten within a heartbeat.

Up ahead, our motorbike stood abandoned by the side of the road. Bunching my dress around my waist, I clambered on and swung back the kickstand with a heel. It'd be hard to ride in these shoes, but…screw it. I didn't have the energy to wait for Cupid. I slid my key in the ignition and the engine rumbled beneath me. A smile tugged at my mouth; I loved this bike.

As I shucked on my helmet, flicking down the visor, I heard someone call my name. "Chase! Wait up!"

I groaned internally. I had hoped I might get away before he noticed. Twisting around in the seat, I watched Cupid jog across the pavement. "What?" I snapped.

"Leaving so soon? You're my ride."

"Find another one."

"Oh, Annie." He angled his chin, a predator assessing its prey. "Get the hell off my bike. I'm _really_ not in the mood to play."

I opened my mouth to counter with a scathing reply, but blanched when I noticed something. "Jesus, Cupid. What happened to your face?" An indigo bruise curled around his cheekbone and his bottom lip was swollen. A dark crust of blood had formed on it.

Cupid snarled. "What's it to you, bunny? Off my bike. Now."

My hands curled into fists. When I spoke, my voice was embarrassingly high and shrill. "We're partners! We share this bike. And don't fucking order me around—"

Without warning, Cupid lashed out, planting a foot against the side of the bike and giving it a brutal shove. A curse on my lips, I fell out of the seat and onto the ice-slick pavement, grunting in pain as my shoulder smacked concrete. I would've rolled to soften the blow, but my dress was twisted. Clutching my smarting arm, I got to my feet, swearing viciously at Cupid as he shot off into the night. He saluted. I flipped him a coarse gesture of my own.

Suddenly, someone spoke behind me. " _Bonsoir, mademoiselle. Ça va?"_

In surprise, I whirled around. Behind me stood the boy who'd performed in the bar. His hands were tucked casually into the pockets of his black suit. His hair was messily shorn, a deep red. My voice failed me. I stammered, "I, uh…don't…Sorry, I don't speak French."

"Oh!" He smirked, cheek dimpling. He switched cleanly to English. "Don't worry—I just assumed. It's not my native language either."

Now, I could easily hear the American lilt to his voice.

Gesturing out to the road, he raised a brow. "Did that jackass steal your bike?"

I flapped a hand in dismissal, trying to forge an excuse that wouldn't get the police involved. "No, um…well, he's my cousin. We share the bike." I gave a sour laugh. "We argued. Long story short, he left me here." Changing the subject, I nodded back to the bar with a smile. "So, I heard you and your friend perform tonight. You have a great voice."

Suddenly self-conscious, he rubbed the back of his neck. "Thank you, but—I don't really sing much." He shrugged. "Still, I like to, when I get the chance."

"Do you write music?"

"Sometimes, yeah. Nothing back there in the bar was original, though."

Impressed, I cocked a brow. "You do write? Do you think you might get signed?"

He gave a genuine laugh, snorting a little. "Ha! Signed! Not a chance. I mean, _Piper's_ trying to. She's incredible. Like, insanely talented. But no. I love music, but I'd never go into it."

"Why not?" I asked. I realised that while we were speaking, the clouds had disappeared, abdicating the sky to utter darkness. I squinted, but only a few silver outlines of stars were visible; we were deep in the centre of the city, where every light blazed brighter than the night. In Paris, they butchered their stars.

The young man had fallen quiet, watching me. A strange emotion was etched across his face.

I prodded at the silence, and it shattered under the weight of my voice. "You know, I didn't catch your name," I said, a question in my tone.

He looked pained. Something warred behind his eyes. He started to say something, faltered, then finally spoke. "I'm Percy. You?"

Instantly, a dozen lies leapt, poised, to my tongue. _Call me Anya,_ I wanted to say. _I'm Bella. The name's Bethany._ But there was some relentless instinct in me, shouting: _give him the truth._ Even if the truth could destroy everything.

I adhered. "Annabeth." I muttered. "It's Annabeth."

Percy tilted his head back. His eyes fluttered shut. He mouthed my name: _Ann-uh-beth_. "Beautiful," he replied. And then he smirked. "I don't suppose I'm allowed to ask what happened to your lovely red dress?"

I looked down at myself, heaving a weary sigh. My dress was torn, its edges ragged. Ruined. "It's been a long day," I managed.

Wisely, Percy didn't press the subject. "How you gonna get home?" he asked instead.

I ran a hand through my hair. "A cab, I suppose." I patted my sides, fumbling through my dress in the search for my wallet. But—no pockets. Damn it!

Percy, having watched me search, looked mildly amused. "I guess you'll need a ride."

My chest burned with embarrassment. "Looks like it," I mumbled.

Extending an elbow, Percy gestured ahead of us. "Shall we?" I followed his gaze. A busted 1973 Camaro was parked roadside. Its paint job was red and peeling, exposing battered silver beneath. One rubber tyre looked on the verge of going flat.

Two girls stood by it, leaning casually against the hood.

One of them I recognised as the girl who'd performed with Percy. What was her name again—? Piper. She wore a sheer black dress paired with a matching choker. Red scars (track marks?) were etched into her forearms. A cigarette dangled from between two nimble fingers.

Piper raised it every so often to her lips, exhaling smoke through the side of her mouth, all the while laughing and smiling at the other girl standing beside her. This girl had thick, gorgeous hair, cascading toward her hips in corkscrew curls. Her dark skin was dusted with fine golden glitter. She was talking animatedly to Piper, clearly in the midst of an explanation.

Percy led us toward them, half-dragging me by an elbow. "Evening, ladies," he called. I rolled my eyes.

Piper was busy relighting her fag, holding it down and out of the wind as she furiously clicked her baby pink lighter. The black-haired girl looked up and smiled at us. "Hey, Jackson," she replied. "Who's this?"

"Roxanne, Piper, meet Annabeth," Percy called. Then, "Annabeth, meet Piper and Roxanne."

We approached the pair. I summoned a tentative smile. "Hi."

Roxanne offered a hand, which I shook. "Damn, girl," she said, eyeing my torn dress. She gave a low whistle. "You're looking pretty rough."

I raised a brow. "I could say the same about your car."

Roxanne grimaced. "You've got a point. I used to drive my sister's car back in America, but when I moved to Paris recently, I needed a new one, fast—and my budget was kinda low."

I nodded in understanding.

Piper cursed, making all three of us startle. She'd singed her hand on the lighter. Putting the burnt finger in her mouth, she amended herself: "Sorry. Carry on."

Percy turned back to Roxanne. "So, why did you move?" he asked.

Roxanne fidgeted with one of her curls, twining the end around itself again and again. "I want to become an artist," she admitted. "I'm actually studying at Diderot right now. It's my first year." A hint of pride entered her voice, and I wondered how exclusive the university really was.

I smiled. "Wow. That's kinda cool." And I meant it. Anyone with the balls to leave a whole life behind to pursue their dreams was someone to admire, in my eyes.

Piper finally lit her cigarette, mumbling a hurrah under her breath. "Okay," she said, sticking it in the corner of her mouth and rummaging through her bag. "Roxanne, you driving?"

I started, surprised; her French accent was super thick. "When did you learn English?" I asked.

Piper looked up at me, as though she'd only just noticed I was there. She yielded a tight smile. "I learnt a bit when a younger, but Percy's been teaching me more this year." She stuck out a stiff hand for me to shake. I took it. "Annabeth, right?"

"Yeah."

Piper had already turned away from me. "Roxanne, are you driving? Actually, you know what—I will. Give me the keys." The other girl did, rolling her eyes as she dug them out of a pocket and tossed them to Piper.

"She's a little forward," Percy muttered in my ear. I laughed.

We set off driving, the Camaro's windows rolled down even as it snowed. I tried not to shiver too much in my tiny dress, cradling my arms. Percy sat sprawled beside me. He smoked a cigarette out of the window.

Piper and Roxanne sat in the front, bantering back and forth. "Ryan Gosling was _great_ in _The Notebook_ ," Piper huffed as she fiddled with the radio's dial, switching between one crappy French pop station after another.

"Really? I found him so creepy! For the last, like, three quarters of the movie I literally could not see past that gross beard. I swear, he looked like an actual hobo."

"Yeah, but—don't you think it made him…kind of hotter?"

"I wouldn't know." Roxanne's eyes danced when she winked back at me.

Piper snorted. "Liking girls doesn't make you _blind_." Piper looked over her shoulder to face me, even though, as driver, she was should've been keeping her eyes on the road.

Roxanne shrieked as we swerved, grabbing the abandoned wheel. "The hell, man?!"

Ignoring her, Piper asked, "So, what do you think, new girl? Ryan Gosling as _The Notebook_ 's Noah Calhoun: hot or not?"

I shrugged. "Ryan Gosling's alright-looking, I guess, but I've never seen the movie. I have read the book, though."

Roxanne's jaw dropped. "Christ, Percy. Where did you find this chick?" She was joking, but still.

Percy took a moment to respond, startled out of his daydream. He turned away from the window, focusing. He casually flicked ashes off his cigarette onto the car's floor. "What?"

"Your friend's never seen the goddamn _Notebook._ "

His blue eyes widened and I forgot how to breathe. When he turned his gaze on me I felt stripped to the skin. "What! Annabeth!" Tutting, he shook his head and lit up another fag. "How haven't you seen _The Notebook_? So iconic." Jokingly, he poked me. "You're obviously uncultured."

A little miffed, I crossed my arms. "Uncultured, really? Just how many books have you read in your life?"

Percy gaped. "Excuse me? I read!"

Piper scoffed, having turned back to the road. "Yeah, right—comic books, I'll bet."

Percy reddened. Embarrassment or annoyance, I couldn't tell. "No," he mumbled. "I do like reading. I just never had the time." Something about the way he said it made me stop pressing.

Roxanne changed the subject. "So, Annabeth. What do you do?"

"Oh, uh." My tongue flapped, grasping for a lie. Finding none, I settled for a half-truth instead. "I work for my uncle's company. He's in real estate."

Roxanne whistled. "Ooh, fancy. Poor little rich girl, are you?"

I would've argued, and probably should've, but gave a thin-lipped smile instead.

Percy blew smoke in Roxanne's face, stinking up the whole car. "Please stop insulting my new friend. And anyway, if you really wanted to be rich, Roxanne, you wouldn't have majored in Art."

Piper pointed at him, brows raised, as though Percy made a good point.

Roxanne scowled. "I don't care about money. I care about getting my work out there and seen."

"What kind of stuff do you do?" I asked.

Piper answered for her. "Mixed-media, right? Uh, photography and painting combined? I saw that piece you did of Romeo and Juliet. I liked how some parts were painted and some weren't. The tapestry thing behind them must have taken forever."

Roxanne nodded. For my benefit, she elaborated: "I started out as a street artist in New York, but now I'm trying to be legit."

Piper smiled at her, an expression so soft I could hardly believe it'd come from her. Roxanne smiled back.

Percy met my gaze, shaking his head incredulously. "True love!" he whispered. I laughed.

We turned a corner. "Here?" Piper asked.

I nodded. "Yeah, just there—thanks." We pulled up. I'd asked them to drop me off several blocks away from where I really lived—I could hardly give them the address. It was safer for them this way, anyway.

Muttering a goodbye, I hopped out, smoothing my dress. My heels clicked on the slick cobblestone pavement. The snow had alleviated, yielding the skies to sheets of cold winter rain. Icy water rushed down the gutters, washing away any mud-streaked tyre tracks left pressed into the dirty snowfall.

I started to shiver; every hammering raindrop was a lashing of sleet against my bare shoulders and arms. It was a cold night and all I was wearing was this sheer red dress.

After waving at them, I turned and walked away. The Camaro's engine rumbled behind me, so distant it could've been an echo from another world. A lifetime passed. I walked, and walked, all the while forgetting to breathe.

The wind picked up. The rain was becoming savage.

Then I heard it—a voice crying, "Wait! Stop!" I didn't, terrified it might not have been real. The voice shouted again.

This time I spun, hands still braced on my shoulders as a barrier to the cold. _He_ was there again, stepping up to the sidewalk, red hair darkened by the rain. "Annabeth," he called, hesitant. "You…you look freezing. Do you want my jacket for the walk home?"

I stuttered, unable to find the words. _Yes. No. Stay._

Percy shrugged out of his jacket and offered it to me. "Here. Take it."

I was stunned. "Thank you," I managed. A moment passed. Then another. Finally, I took it, tugging it on. It was warm and snug, laced with the scent of salt.

Now Percy was left in dark slacks and a drenched white shirt, its sleeves rolled up to his elbows. But still he smiled, all soft dimples and blue eyes and beading rivulets of water running down his face and arms. I decided he was beautiful in the rain.

Someone from the car yelled at him to hurry. Ignoring them, Percy took a tentative step forward. "It's been nice to meet you," he said at last. "Um…I suppose this is goodbye?"

The rain grew heavier, so loud it drowned out even our suffocating silence. Neither of us moved a muscle.

An idea flickered into existence in my head. It was stupid, really. "Do you have a pen?" I asked suddenly. My words were almost lost to the rain's clamour.

Percy patted his pockets, coming up with a Sharpie. "Uh, yeah. Why?"

I took the pen from him, then turned over his forearm. Under my touch, his skin was soft and smooth. I heard his breath catch. Quickly, I scrawled a series of looping digits: my phone number. The black ink was already bleeding purple veins into his wet skin.

Percy covered it up with a hand to keep it intact. When he looked at me again, something like fire burned in his eyes.

"Call me," I said. "If you want."

He ducked his head. "Goodbye, Annabeth."

Then he was gone, and I was alone again.

* * *

Fifteen minutes passed. At some point during my walk home, the rain ceased, leaving behind the scent of wet concrete and heavy, deafening silence. The stars had come out again. Above my head hung Orion the Hunter, his belt blazing in the dark. Almost subconsciously, I reached an absent hand up into the air, tracing the jagged lines of his glowing shoulders, his hips, his arching bow with my fingertips. I was surprised I still remembered the constellation—my mom had taught them to me when I was pretty young, before she died.

I reached our street. It was wide and dark, bereft of streetlights. I knew for a fact that every security camera had been disabled within a mile radius. As I approached, I unsheathed my bronze, triangular knife from the sheath strapped to my calf. I gripped it tight, eyes wide and alert as I headed towards the huge, towering warehouse looming above the street.

From the outside, it looked like nothing. Just a forgotten building fallen into disrepair, left alone for nature to reclaim. Its walls were traced with tiny, spidering cracks and overtaken by green ivy. But if I concentrated, I could feel the weight of eyes on me—my other friends, partners, and associates who also worked for my uncle.

It was hard to see in the dark, but I'd walked this path hundreds of times before. I slipped into a crack between one side of the warehouse and the next building adjacent to it, and headed straight forward into the alleyway, my knife's metal cool and reassuring in my palm. Then, after a dozen paces, I turned, digging my fingertips into a gap in the warehouse's thick stone wall. I found what I was looking for—a lever.

I pulled it, and the hidden door swung open. Instantly I was enveloped in brash, golden light.

"Chase! Where the hell you been?"

I stepped inside, eyes still adjusting to the sudden change in brightness. I took in the scene. Two of my partners were gathered around a little coffee table, playing cards. One had short, golden hair buzzed in an undercut. He was the one that'd spoken. His blue eyes were cold and disarming but his scarred lips stretched in a smile. Jason Grace, my closest confidant—and also the appointed head of my uncle's branch of assassins.

And opposite him, her leather boots resting on our mahogany coffee table, my second-in-command: Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano. She ignored me when I walked in, eyes fixed on her hand of cards. Tossing her long, dark braid over one shoulder, she clicked her tongue once, twice, then pushed a couple of crimson poker chips towards the growing stack of money that sat between them both. "Raise," she said.

Jason didn't reply at first. He absent-mindedly flicked the safety of his CZ 75 _on—off—on—off_ as he studied his cards. Finally, he seemed to come to a resolution, rolling his eyes. "Screw it. I'll match you." He counted in more of his own chips.

As I pulled out a chair and slumped on it, Reyna arched a brow at me. "Well? Gonna explain why you're so late, blondie?"

Jason eyed me. "You look like shit."

I grabbed the bottle of vodka they were sharing and swigged it, wincing as it burned like fire down my throat. I said nothing for a few moments, then: "The info was bad. It was a set-up."

Incredulous, Jason shot forward. "What?! But we had it planned for months!" I shrugged as Reyna dealt me in to the next round and lent me a couple poker chips to start. Jason pressed. "What happened?"

With a sigh, I picked up my cards. The ace of diamonds, the queen of diamonds.

We placed bets. Reyna revealed the flop. Three cards, next to each other. We bet again.

Jason never stopped staring, expectant, waiting for an answer. The next card was revealed, then the next. When the last card was revealed, I found I had a royal flush of perfect crimson. Reyna was chewing her lip.

The silence between us was tangible.

I spoke. "We shot him. The rat. Cupid and I." It was hardly an explanation, sporadic and short, yet my expression said everything anyway. All the threats exchanged. The gunshots. The screams, the pain. Another day in the life, but with every person dead under the weight of my bullets some vital part of me became a little more battered.

At least I'd worn red today. It concealed the blood splattering my dress.

Wordlessly, I stood up, laying my cards face up on the table. I didn't take my winnings; I didn't care.

Reyna sighed, gaze heavy and unfocused. She discarded her losing hand on the table with a flick of her wrist. "Are you going to go report to Sir?"

"Guess so. He'll want to hear what happened from someone who was there."

Jason stood up too, chair scraping against the stone floor. He stretched, cricking his neck. "I'll walk you."

Reyna left for bed, leaving us with a brief salute. Jason and I wandered corridor after corridor, slowly descending the labyrinthine hallways beneath our warehouse. This place was huge, sprawling for several acres below-ground. Its winding tunnels had been dug out centuries ago—during the French Revolution—but councils had seemingly forgotten about it. Although it was a little damp and moody, it served its purpose well as our current base.

Jason whistled as he walked, hands in his pockets. I still marvelled at how he seemed so upbeat when he killed people as a full-time job. I wondered how much of it was really an act.

Several minutes came and went. We passed door after door, some leading to training rooms, some to dormitories, and others to offices and interrogation rooms. I was cold, even with Percy's jacket—there wasn't any heating down here.

Soon, we arrived outside a wooden door. A sign that read REC ROOM hung from the handle. "Can you be quick?" I asked Jason. "I kind of want to get Sir over with." Jason was typing away on his burner phone.

I caught sight of the message he was composing: _tomorrow? that's not enough time, I—_

I looked away. The contact it was addressed to was private; if I didn't need to know, I shouldn't know. Keeping secrets from each other allowed us to stay out of the FBI's grasp, even under questioning.

"Yeah, yeah," Jason mumbled. He pressed send and flipped the phone shut, slipping it into his back pocket. When he turned to face me, his smile was tight, a far cry from reaching his eyes. He gestured to the door. "Ladies first, then?"

The rec room was packed with maybe fifty people, most milling around holding drinks. A technicolour disco ball spun in the corner, casting flashing, vibrant lights on the walls.

Empty beer cans and cigarette butts littered the stained carpet, and a few dilapidated sofas we'd hauled in had each been pushed up against the walls. A dart board had been hammered into the wall, and it currently sported an unflattering photo of Sir's face. A group of teens were throwing darts at it and tallying their scores. A battered TV set sat off to the side of the room, an abandoned Mario Kart game still glowing faintly on its pixelated screen.

Most notably, though, was the huge, battered blackboard hanging over the bar surface. _DEATH POOL_ was scrawled across the top in white chalk letters. Dozens of names were listed underneath, a value of money next to their name—the amount of money bet on their murder. Beside me, Jason stared at the death pool. His eyes skimmed the names, flickering down the board until they stopped, laser-focused on what they found.

I knew what he was looking at. _Jason Grace: 13,782 €._ Almost three hundred euros up from last time.

Jason didn't look away. His face was lined with deep-set fury, his brows furrowed. Gently, I took his arm, guiding him back to reality. "It's just a dumb bet," I murmured. "Come on."

He turned back to me, jaw clenched. His eyes said, _No, it isn't._

The death pool was maybe the sickest, most horrendous part of working in this place. Most of our recruits were harboured criminals, or, like myself, had been integrated into the gang at a pretty young age, so naturally most of us were straight fucked in the head. Sir had to accommodate that—and allowing us to bet on the deaths of our comrades was his way of doing it.

Out of nowhere, a tall, black-haired blur of motion slammed into Jason, enveloping him in a hug. "Baby bro! You made it!"

Jason broke into a grin. "Thalia!" He looped his arms around her, tucking his chin into her hair. "Jesus fuck, I didn't think you'd actually come." His voice was muffled.

They broke apart, but Jason's hand lingered on Thalia's sleeve, as though he had to be sure she wouldn't disappear. "Of course I came. It's boring back in old 'Merica without you kids." She seemed to notice me, then, and offered me a smile. "Hey, Annabeth. Been keeping Jason out of trouble for me?"

Jason scoffed. "More like the other way around."

I gave Thalia a hug. "It's great to see you, Thals. How come you managed to get reassigned in Paris?"

Thalia flapped a hand. "Oh, I haven't been reassigned; they're keeping me in New York. I just managed to negotiate a few weeks off. I'll be here till late January."

Jason reached up and straightened the collar of Thalia's jacket—some long-forgotten habit forged when they were younger. "It's been years," he said quietly. "I…You came."

A realisation struck me. "You knew Thalia was coming?" I asked, though it wasn't a question. "Why didn't you say?"

He shrugged, but I knew the answer: he hadn't wanted to get his hopes up.

I left Jason with Thalia, figuring they'd want to catch up. Jason did offer to come the rest of the way with me, but I waved him off with a smile.

Once I was out of the rec room, it was one, two, three left turns until I arrived at a door. A _No Entry_ sign hung from its gleaming, furnished handle. I reached up to knock, but my hand was shaking far too much.

I inhaled sharply, steeling myself, and knocked.

A harsh voice inside the room called, "Who is it?"

"Lieutenant Chase, Sir," I answered. I consciously pulled myself up straighter, a hand twitching to fix my hair. I waited. Everything was silent for a few moments save for my own breathing.

"Come in, then! Good God above." He sounded irritated.

Quickly, I pushed open the door and closed it behind me. Sir sat at a large, mahogany table that was stacked with crisp forms and paperweights. A jar of pens and pencils sat curtly at his left. An array of semi-automatic rifles and sleek shotguns were meticulously lined up along every spare inch of wall.

Sir didn't care to look up for a few moments, still writing away. I kept my back straight, eyes trained on the ground—a quintessential soldier. An eternity passed, then another. My hands trembled where they lay pressed against my sides.

Finally, Sir deigned to notice me. "Lieutenant Chase. What?" he barked.

I set my jaw, determined to show no fear. "I'm here to report the outcome of the mission Lieutenant Cupid and I carried out, Sir," I said, all in a single breath.

Sir inclined his chin, brow raised—a silent invitation to continue.

"It was a failure, Sir. There was a rat. I shot them, Sir." Sir rose from his chair, careful, careful. _Don't blink don't breathe don't blink don't breathe don't blink—_

"Who was it? The rat?"

"Ethan Nakamura. There were thirteen casualties, two of which were civilian." I exhaled, picking at a hangnail on my thumb. "The police got involved. I'm sorry, Sir."

Sir crossed the room. Five strides, timed perfectly to my pulse. Now he stood right before me, peering down at my face, but I still could not bear to meet his eyes. Brown eyes—like charred wood, no hint of chocolate in sight. Eyes like my father's, who'd been killed by a speeding car—or so it said on his death certificate. I'd never seen the body, but you can bet your ass that if I'd been awarded that privilege, I would've found a neat little bullet wound right in the centre of his forehead.

I met Sir's gaze. I imagined the buck of a gun against my palm, a ringing shot, a similar bullet hole between his own pair of brown eyes—then quickly leashed my rampant thoughts before they ruined me.

My hands continued to tremble. I could feel his breath on my face, and it took every ounce of willpower I possessed to avoid reaching up and scrubbing the sensation away.

"Annabeth," Sir said, voice low, but not gently so. More the sort of gentle you would expect of the ocean before a storm. "Lieutenant Chase. Your partner already showed up and told me everything. I expected better from you, my niece. Truly."

My lip curled. _Cupid, that fucker._

I knew what was coming. I knew the blank disappointment on Sir's face, knew the way he cocked his head, considering me. Me, his best recruit, his brother's little wretch. I'd proven myself a hundred, a thousand times over in the name of his respect, but what the hell did it matter?

Quick as a viper, Sir slapped me across the face. Again. He grabbed the collar of my ruined red dress and shook me, hard. I did not resist, limp as a rag doll. "You will clean up your mess," Sir murmured. "You will erase all evidence of Ethan Nakamura's life. You will _better_ yourself, because by God, if you fail me again, I will throw you out onto the streets. Do you understand?" He spat on my face, his saliva warm and wet and vile.

I shuddered, giving a feeble nod. My cheek burned from the slap and I could taste hot, thick blood trickling into my mouth where my bottom lip was cleaved in two. "Sorry, Sir. It won't happen again, Sir," I rasped. He let go of me, and I almost crumpled to the floor. Shame burned through my every orifice.

"Get out," he told me.

I did.


	3. Carbon & Bad Timing

**CHAPTER 3: CARBON & BAD TIMING**

PERCY

" _We are all just carbon and bad timing,"_ I sang. " _Why can't I imagine a colour that I have not seen? Half my life I'm awake, everything's so tiring. Napalm is just plastic and gasoline…"_ My voice rung quiet but rich. I strummed the last few chords on my guitar before falling silent.

Across the room, Roxanne clapped. She lay reclined on the couch while her black-and-white collie, Solo, sat sprawled across her legs. "Fuck you, that's amazing. You really write that?"

I took off my guitar strap, setting it down on the counter I was sitting on. Hiding a smile, I shrugged, all nonchalance. "Yeah, with McLean." I fumbled in the back pocket of my jeans for a fag.

A sudden bang resounded through Roxanne's apartment—Piper had kicked the door open. " _Salut,_ kiddos. I got ice cream." Piper strode into the room, grocery bags hanging from her arms. Her long brown hair was matted from the wind outside. With needless flair, she dramatically dumped the groceries on the counter next to me and collapsed onto the couch where Roxanne lay. Solo yelped when she landed on his tail.

"Piper, careful," Roxanne chided. Piper rolled her eyes.

I rummaged through the groceries. Coffee, milk, beer…fuck, yeah! The promised mint choc chip ice cream. With a cheer, I grabbed a spoon and tucked in, re-assuming my previous spot on the counter. "Pipes, you're an absolute legend."

"Oi! Don't eat it all, you fat pig," Roxanne cried. She shooed Solo off her lap and ran to snatch the ice cream away from me. "At least dish it out like a functioning human being." I laughed, but it came out a little deranged for all the green ice cream I'd loaded into my mouth. Awarding her a nice view of my favourite finger, I set down my spoon and waited eagerly for her to divide it into bowls. Piper watched us as she made coffee, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Piper and I had been staying at Roxanne's for a while; she'd seen the place where we squatted and immediately ushered us into her own place for as long as would take for us to get our lives together. It was nice not to be homeless for a change, though I knew my time in Paris was rapidly running out anyway.

We finished the whole tub of ice cream between us. Roxanne left for evening classes, taking Piper with her to show her around her university. I lay on the couch alone, cigarette burning out on the ashtray beside me. My songwriting notebook was balanced on my knees, and I doodled on it without thinking, listening to the Amy Winehouse vinyl Roxanne had left playing.

Lyrics tumbled through my head, but none of them worked with each other. Instead, crimson fabric and blonde hair sparked in my mind, flowing like thoughts into one another. Black, sweeping tattoos in the shape of angel wings morphed in my head, and her name poked and prodded at my mind until I had no choice but to set it free on the paper. _Annabeth,_ I wrote. _Annabeth, Annabeth, Annabeth, Annabeth, Annabeth_ —

I tore my pen away from the page. A sigh escaped me, and I flopped back down onto the couch. I couldn't write anything productive with my mind like this.

I put my arm into the air, letting all the blood trickle out of it into my shoulder until my fingers ached and I had to bring my arm back down. Something on my forearm caught my eye as I did. A phone number. _Her_ phone number. I groaned; why couldn't I _escape_ this girl?!

I went to the sink to wash it off, but when I got there, I couldn't put my arm under the tap. The water ran for five, ten, thirty seconds before I finally shut it off. _Get a hold of yourself, Jackson._ Just to calm my racing thoughts, I scribbled Annabeth's number into my notebook to keep it safe, then washed the now-ruined black digits off my arm without a second thought.

* * *

"We're not watching _Love Island._ Turn over."

"Fuck you, Roxanne. This show is the height of modern entertainment. Suck it up and let yourself be amused by the idiot islanders."

Roxanne scoffed at Piper, kicking up her feet to rest them on the coffee table. "Sure, sure. The height of modern entertainment—all it does is glorify straight culture. Plus, everyone leans back when they sit down in a really weird way so they don't get tummy rolls. You're all stick-thin, for Chrissake!" She threw a Dorito at the TV screen.

"Who cares? It's funny. And, to disprove your point," Piper leaned close to me conspiratorially, her voice a whisper: "I think Trevor's bi."

I grinned. "Yeah, Roxy. Thought you were woke!"

"Shut up, Jackson. You're straight so your opinion doesn't matter in this."

"That's heterophobic," Piper cut in, tone mocking. Even Roxanne laughed.

Outside, it rained quietly. We were all tangled up on the floor beneath a dozen quilted blankets, surrounded by cheap junk food and half-finished cups of soda. Roxanne's sketchbook was balanced on her lap, and in it she was working on a charcoal drawing of Piper. The constant scraping of her pencil against the paper created a strangely comforting white noise. I sighed contentedly, revelling in the calm Sunday evening. It was an early start for me at the café tomorrow—seven AM—but I hardly minded. It was kind of nice having something to do that both earned me money _and_ that I enjoyed.

While Piper and Roxanne fought over the remote, I picked up my flip phone. I only had two contacts in it: _Beauty Queen_ and _Roxanne_ —the latter of which I'd only added recently after a shitload of pestering from the girl herself.

Now, though, I stared at the _Add Contact_ button. Annabeth's number was imprinted on the back of my mind, and I couldn't shake it off no matter how hard I tried. Soon enough, I gave up fighting against all my instincts and pressed the button. I inputted her number, sounding out each digit silently on my tongue. When it prompted me to label the contact, I slowly, reverently typed in _Annabeth._ I tapped _Compose Message_ , heart pounding so wildly I thought for sure it was going to burst through my ribcage.

 _Hello,_ I wrote. Then I deleted that, writing _hi. It's Percy, the guy you met._ No, no, no. Was that too forward? I backspaced, groaning. Why was I working myself up over one girl? I quickly typed, _Hey, it's Percy,_ and set my phone down on the floor. I wasn't going to check it. Not a chance.

* * *

The next day, I rolled a fag on the way to work. My hands were freezing, and I could hardly operate my lighter for the cold. I fumbled with the switch, fingers too numb to press down hard enough to create any kind of flame. Eventually, though, I made a spark. I cheered under my breath when I finally lit my cigarette. I put it to my lips, and inhaled slowly, savouring the rich tobacco. Sweet fucking bliss.

I arrived outside my work—a run-down little café tucked into the corner of an alleyway. It was always surprisingly busy inside because it doubled as a vinyl shop, and the music we played was actually in good taste. The sign above the café read _Pour Les Perdus,_ meaning _For The Lost._

I strode in, tossing my half-finished cigarette onto the curb outside. An ocean of warmth instantly enveloped me, and the sound of laughter and French chatter surrounded me. Stacks of vinyl records were pushed against the wall, and customers milled around them, occasionally finding one they liked. "Jackson!" I caught sight of Helene waving me over. "You're late," she yelled in French.

I laughed. " _Pardon_." I took off my jacket, rolling up my sleeves. "Counter duty today?" I asked.

Helene shook her head, raising a brow. " _Non_. You're late. Like I said." Her English was good, albeit accented. She was about twenty-five, and her hair was fiery red and cropped to her chin. Tiny, reflective beads dripped from her ears like a cascading silver waterfall. Folding her arms, she gestured back to the counter with a flick of her head. "I'm assigning you washing up duty." I started to complain, but she held up a hand. "No, I'm not having it right now. You're lucky I'm not laying you off for this. Get in there, Jackson."

I grumbled but complied. Soon enough, I stood at the sink behind the counter, washing up all the cups and plates that Henri, our current waiter, gave me to clean. The scars on my hands were fine at first, but after a while they burned, starting to redden—both from the exertion and the washing up liquid. I grimaced, but decided to just deal with it. Only another hour, then I'd switch with Henri.

Finally, it was almost time for my break. I sighed in relief, carefully drying my hands. I pulled up a chair at one of our vacant tables and ordered a regular black coffee, enjoying the mug's warmth beneath the aching scar tissue of my hands. I sipped it slowly while the seconds ticked by, occasionally checking my watch to ensure I hadn't run over my break.

Suddenly, something buzzed in my back pocket. I startled, spilling a few drops of my coffee, before realising it was only my phone. Setting down my drink, I dug out my phone and flipped it open. _1 New Message_ , the lock screen read. Was it—was it her? I hastily clicked _Open Message Thread._

 _ **Annabeth:**_ _Hey, Percy. I've still got your jacket_

I embraced the cliché and smiled at my phone, already typing a reply.

 _ **You:**_ _it's fine, I don't need the jacket back. you looked cute in it anyway_

She didn't reply immediately, so I finished my coffee and cleared away my mug, leaving my phone on the table. When I returned, a message notification had popped up. I grabbed my phone eagerly, hope surging, but it was only a text from Roxanne. Disappointment clawed at me. I shook it off. I hardly knew her; what did it matter?

 _ **Roxanne:** at __the store u want anything_

 _ **You:**_ _Nah_

 _ **You:**_ _acc wait yeah can u get that really good mint ice cream we had the other day_

 _ **Roxanne:**_ _kk_

 _ **Roxanne:**_ _there's no mint left, you want vanilla? it's grim but idk_

 _ **You:**_ _no wtf get chocolate then_

 _ **Roxanne:**_ _All they have is vanilla, jackson !_

 _ **You:**_ _ugh fine vanilla will suffice_

Henri interrupted, peering down from where he stood above me, dishcloth in hand. "Are we changing over?" he asked, accent thick.

" _Oui, pardon._ " I slid my phone away into my jeans, pushing Annabeth to the back of my mind. I was glad for the switch; although my feet quickly started to ache from all the jogging around fetching coffee and clearing away, it gave my hands some reprieve. Before I knew it, it was five 'o'clock, and my shift was finished. I thanked Helene and wandered out of _Pour Les Perdus_ , ambling down the street. I checked my phone: nothing.

She was probably just busy. Had I made a mistake?

I roamed the streets of Paris for a bit, enjoying the city's inherent beauty. Even near the rundown outskirts where I was staying, something about the towering, red-brick buildings was deeply enticing—their architecture was reminiscent of the early Renaissance. Everything was arching stone and careful detailing, although most of this area had mostly fallen into disrepair.

On my way back to Roxanne's apartment, I stopped outside the supermarket. Inside, it was bustling and busy with people as it was nearly closing time and everyone was hurrying to buy whatever they needed, so it took some time to apprehend what I was looking for. Soon, though, I did. A box of red hair dye, the same brand I always used. My roots were growing out, and it wouldn't be long before the concealed black became dangerously noticeable. Colouring my hair was cheap, effective, and—paired with my blue contacts—utterly destructive. A blot of ink over my old features. This new face, though…I didn't know whose it was. Whenever I saw my reflection, it always took me a moment to perceive the person staring back at me as myself, and not some fucked-up clone. This red hair, these blue eyes…they felt like forgery, or even just a signature written with the wrong hand.

I bought two boxes of the dye, leaving the cashier with a fistful of euros and a false smile.

* * *

"What're you doing?"

I turned to see Roxanne leaning against the bathroom door. "Just re-dying my hair," I replied. I shot her a fleeting smile and turned back to the mirror, continuing to smother every inch of my hair in the red dye, making sure to get all my black roots. My hands were stained crimson as I hadn't bothered to wear gloves. I knew it'd take weeks to get all the red out of my nail beds.

Roxanne nodded. She just stood there, arms folded. Her black eyes were trained on my hands as I worked, watching me. "You missed a patch behind that ear." She gestured.

"Shit, wait." I tipped a little more dye onto the pads of my fingers and applied it where she'd said. "Better?"

"Yeah, you're good."

"Thanks."

Everything was silent for a few moments as I finished up, but then Roxanne spoke. "Why do you dye your hair?"

My nerves twitched for me to run, but I squashed the instinct. "Just prefer it red," I said airily.

Roxanne hummed, some nameless emotion written across her face. "Black would probably suit you better. Leave it natural next time."

I didn't say anything, so she left.

* * *

ANNABETH

I stood in our shooting range, where the air was rife with buckshot and cold from the lack of heating. A pump-action shotgun was braced against my shoulder. I aimed, exhaled, fired, hit. Fired, hit. Fired, hit. I removed the empty clip from the gun and reloaded. My shoulder was beginning to ache from the constant kickback—I was certain there'd be a huge, indigo bruise there tomorrow.

I examined my handiwork on the paper target that sat twenty metres away. I could hit the torso no problem, but aiming for the head was proving to be a challenge. When I did, I was lucky to clip the ear.

"Training up your aim, Bethie?" Cupid swaggered into view beside me, already prepping his gun.

"Don't call me that," I muttered. _Bang, bang, bang._ Two out of three of my bullets hit the target's shoulder.

Cupid raised his gun, appraising his target. Tilting his head a few degrees right, he closed one eye and fired. With one shot, he hit the target right between the eyes. A sinuous smirk twisted his mouth.

He was good. Better than me, and he knew it.

I did not acknowledge him. An hour passed, a cruel affair of kickback and gunfire and Cupid's sneers that cut colder and deeper than any steel bullet.

* * *

I didn't share a room with anyone. Most people preferred companionship, but I needed a safe space devoid of expectations where I could be alone. Returning here most evenings felt like a breath of oxygen after being buried underground in an airtight coffin.

It was late at night (or perhaps very early morning) but, as usual, sleep evaded me. For what felt like most of my life, I'd been plagued with bouts of insomnia. It was sometimes okay and other times unbearable. Right now it was the latter. The bags under my eyes made me look fifty years old—etched deep and purplish black, you might've thought I'd been punched on both sides of my face.

For all that I'd tried, I couldn't sleep. Instead, I was enjoying a bizarrely good fantasy flick I'd found on 123Movies called _Big Trouble in Little China._ Although I had to follow subtitles as the audio was in French, I hardly cared; I'd watch anything.

Few knew it, but I, Annabeth Chase, was the perfect movie-watching accomplice. Feeling like a thriller? Sure. Quick rom-com? Hell yes. Obsessed with _Twilight_ and refuse to watch anything else? That's totally chill with me—I've got time for a _Twilight_ marathon and plus the soundtrack bangs.

So it was such that I lay there, munching popcorn, wearing nothing but a bra and coffee-stained joggers, when Jason _fucking_ Grace decided to stop by.

My door flew open with a bang. Jason strode in. "Annabeth!" He was shirtless, in nothing but tartan pyjama bottoms. An armful of blueprints was tucked into his side, and (strangely enough) a gun dangled, forgotten, at his waist. His hair was a state, rumpled and greasy—he hadn't washed out his gel and it looked like a frazzled blonde rat had made a home on his head. He grinned maniacally, bloodshot eyes sparkling through his glasses in some semblance of insanity.

If you didn't know Jason, this would likely register as questionable behaviour. However, I _did_ know Jason, and he was arguably even more of a wrecked insomniac than I was. We sort of balanced each other out. On the times we were both up while the world was asleep, he became manic, whereas my pessimism devolved into blatant realism and made me irritable.

I looked, up, unimpressed. "What the fuck?"

He tried to gesture, showing me what he was carrying, but somewhere along the line fumbled and let a few of his blueprints slide to the floor. "Crap _—_ uh, hi. I'm trying to look over these before tomorrow. Wanna help?" His voice was slurred, but I was well-versed in the language of Insomniac-Jason-ese.

I glanced at one of the blueprints he'd dropped. It'd unrolled, revealing what looked like an intricate drawing of a bank floor plan. "Again, what the _fuck_?" I repeated.

"Okay, okay." He scrambled to pick up the papers he'd dropped and came to sit next to me on my bed, plopping down into crossed legs. "Basically, I said I'd do this like a week ago for Reyna, but uh, I haven't, so…help?" He gave me a smile, but it was all crooked and weird. Jesus Christ, this kid needed some medication.

I nodded slowly. "Sure, I guess." Dusting popcorn off my bra and joggers, I paused _Big Trouble In Little China_ and sat up, crossing my legs, mirroring Jason. I pulled a couple of Jason's blueprints towards me, quickly scanning them. Most were hand-drawn, meticulous, all ink-black lines and scrawling annotations. One or two were vault designs. A few were stealth op related. Unsurprisingly, most were floor plans of varying levels of a single bank. "What's all this, then?"

He scrunched up his face, trying to force his glasses up his nose. "Basically, I'm co-leading the team with Reyna. She's leading the actual op, but I'm planning it. So, I've been thinking, yeah? I dunno how accurate all these plans are cause they're old, so we should get maybe two, three recruits on recon a few hours before. We'll need to take control of all their layers of security, 'cause, you know, these things always _start_ as a stealth mission, but when the fuck does that ever work? I figure we should shut down resistance before it even sparks. Cameras, guards, the like. One team can just walk in through the front and mingle, get in an advantageous position. If things go sideways, they can take care of security guards. If things _really_ go sideways, I think they could even hold back the police. There's only one pair of double-doors, right? Just bottleneck 'em while the stealth team slips out—"

"Wait, wait, wait." I flapped a hand. "Slow down. Fucking _breathe_ for a second. You're not thinking straight."

Impatient, Jason wrung his hands. "Okay, okay. What?"

"Well, you can't just integrate our own team in! Use mercenaries—that way, there isn't any cleaning up to do if any of them get caught and interrogated. As for the cameras, we'll never be one-hundred per cent certain that all of them are taken care of. It _can_ remain a stealth mission, idiot, just use smaller teams. Look at these plans." I swept a hand before us. "There's a ventilation system, and from what I can see it cuts a dozen easy pathways through the bank." I grabbed a pencil and started sketching a line through one particular shaft of vents. "Head in from above and work down, yeah? As for the cameras, don't worry about disabling them all. Focus only on the cameras around the vaults we want to target; it'll just look like the footage was corrupted. Leave every other camera running. Move a small team through these vents here," I traced a path, "and _voila!_ You're in and out in maybe an hour."

Jason ruffled his hair, restless. "Sounds pretty solid in theory, but we have no way of knowing which vents have undergone maintenance since this plan was drafted a couple years ago. Using the vents as our main source of movement is _way_ too high-risk."

I was silent for a few moments, fingers drumming on my knee. "Yeah, but…"

We puzzled out the problem for a few hours, scribbling down numbers, ideas and any complications the covert op team might have to overcome. It was strange spending so long inside Jason's head, and he in mine, combining our 3 AM thoughts as we chomped on leftover popcorn and downed mug after mug of shitty coffee.

Eventually, we figured out a loose plan. Jason thanked me with a quick kiss on the cheek and was out the door in a flash, tripping over his feet in his hurry to grab all his blueprints.

I laughed as my door closed, flopping back down on my bed. I stared up at the ceiling. My room was lit by nothing but the ghostly blue light from my computer, casting strange, dancing shadows on the walls. I rolled over and pressed play on _Big Trouble in Little China_ , then pressed stop again. I sighed. My body was exhausted, deprived of rest, but every thought in my mind clamoured for my attention.

I reached over to my bedside table, and after a moment of floundering without a light my fingers closed around my burner phone. I flipped it open, and the screen glowed to life. _3 New Messages._ I scrolled through. Two were just a couple of reminders from Reyna, but the other message was from _him._

I hadn't even labelled his contact. I didn't want to open his text—instead, I just stared at the thread notification for a couple minutes, chewing on my lip. Should I ignore him? Should I pretend I never saw the message? God, giving him my number had been such a mistake.

Inevitably, I gave in to the urge to open his text. With a sharp exhalation, I jabbed at the message thread with my thumb.

 ** _+33 176 498 498:_** _it's fine, I don't need the jacket back. you looked cute in it anyway_

I fought the compulsion to scream. My fingers shook slightly as I typed out a reply, still chewing hard on my lip. I realised I'd bitten through it when the coppery tang of blood sparked on my tongue.

 ** _You:_** _sure? It's a nice jacket, I'd hate to take it from you_

Surprisingly enough, he popped up just thirty seconds later.

 ** _+33 176 498 498:_** _Nah its fine, jacket's not that nice anyway lol I found it in a crappy garage sale_

I laughed aloud, already writing back.

 ** _You:_** _Says something about you that you buy your clothes from garage sales dont u think_

 ** _+33 176 498 498:_** _no idea what you're implying i have impeccable fashion sense_

 ** _You:_** _Oh yeah? what are you wearing right now_

 ** _+33 176 498 498:_** _…ngl this just got uncomfortable_

Heat rose to my cheeks. A little indignant, I quickly replied.

 ** _You:_** _you know what I mean! Ur pyjamas_

 ** _+33 176 498 498:_** _What pyjamas? ;)_

 ** _You:_** _I've decided u get 1 chance before I block u_

 ** _+33 176 498 498:_** _FINE jfc I'm wearing these v cute Mulan pj bottoms but dont come at me they're Roxanne's ok_

 ** _You:_** _wow that's really uh,,, manly_

 ** _+33 176 498 498:_** _fuck you beth_

 _ **You:** __Fuck u too :)_

 ** _+33 176 498 498:_** _what are u doing right now_

 ** _You:_** _just a movie_

 _ **+33 176 498 498:** __cool cool what movie_

 _ **You:** __Big trouble in little china. best not to ask it's a bit shit tbh_

 ** _+33 176 498 498:_** _I love that movie!_

 ** _+33 176 498 498:_** _seriously it's so good, I don't think it's shit at all_

 _ **You:** fine, I lied. I kinda like it too_

We texted for a long time. He was interesting to talk to—his mind travelled places nobody else's did, and I found my mouth tugging into a smile whenever he made one of his trademark dumb jokes. I added him as a contact, labelling his number _Percy._ There was a bitter finality about it. I knew I couldn't let him work his way into my life—it would only hurt me more when I had to cut him out of it again.

As the clock turned six, I finally fell asleep. My dreams were those of an insomniac: broken and halting and horrifying. When I woke to my alarm an hour later, the sound of gunfire still rang in my ears.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Next chapter should be out on Sunday as usual, so watch out for that :)**


	4. Swan Song

**CHAPTER 4: SWAN SONG**

PERCY

I stood on the rooftop, arms braced against the cool railing. Far above me, stars faded out of existence as the sunrise brightened, streaks of red and gold tearing the darkness apart. I hadn't slept at all—I'd texted Annabeth until night bled into day and she finally fell asleep. Thinking about it, a quiet smile stumbled onto my lips. I'd only spoken to her twice (once? Did texting count?) but already I found her occupying my daydreams.

In an hour I had work at the café—cashier duty, thank fuck. I didn't know if I could stand having to run around waiting tables until my feet fell off again, dealing with bitchy customers who didn't like the taste of their latte. Nope. Today, that was Henri's job.

I leant down and propped my chin on the railing, heaving a sigh. From up here, I could see right the way across Paris, all the way to the grey city skyline etched harshly against the horizon. It was strange, I thought, to watch people from so far away; they looked like little children's dolls whose lives were easier than breathing. I wonder if this was why God never intervened in our affairs, never chose to save us from each other. From his standpoint in far-away Heaven, our all-consuming, bloody wars probably looked like street skirmishes. I doubted he cared any more about our grief and loss and pain than he did for the papercut on my left thumb.

All this philosophising made my fingers itch for a cigarette.

When I descended the stairs back to Roxanne's apartment, I found Piper sitting outside on the doormat. She was leaning on the door, bare feet stretched out before her. She clutched her guitar, strumming and mumbling to herself. Every so often, she'd scribble down a couple more lines of music on the pad of paper next to her.

"Hey," I said, approaching her. She didn't look at me, just held up her index finger in the universal sign for _Wait._ She finished scribbling in her notebook and hummed in satisfaction with whatever she'd come up with. Then, "Yeah?"

I stared at her for a moment, brow cocked. "Any reason why you're sitting on the doorstep?"

"Roxanne's asleep. I didn't want to wake her." Piper's voice was a rasp, low and feeble.

"You sound ill."

"I'm not," she croaked. With excellent timing, she plunged into a coughing fit.

I switched to French to make it easier for her undoubtedly sick and addled brain. "You should go back to sleep," I said. Piper picked up her guitar and began tuning it, choosing to ignore me. I glared at her. "Fine. Don't come crying to me if you get sicker."

I pushed past her into the apartment. I headed into the bathroom and grabbed my toothbrush, meeting my reflection's gaze in the adjacent mirror. I tugged on a strand of my newly-dyed hair—the job was bright, maybe too bright, and redder than before. I'd cut it as well. It was short, shorn at the back, but I'd left it a little longer at the front. It helped to distort my features, casting a shadow over these silicon blue eyes.

I changed for work quickly, grabbing my flip phone and wallet. Unsurprisingly, I tripped over Piper as I hurried out the door. She swore colourfully through her sore voice and flipped me off. "Watch it!"

I spun, walking backwards, and returned the gesture while blowing a kiss. "Love you too!" I took the stairs as the elevator was broken, lighting a fag as I descended. I checked my watch. Thirty-five minutes until work. If I power-walked, that was plenty of time, right? The sun blinded me as I pushed open the lobby doors, cigarette in hand. It was deceptively cold outside—I wished I'd thought to bring a thicker jacket.

Something caught my eye. Across the street sat a long, sleek black car, its elegance juxtaposing its torn-up, dirty surroundings. I slowed, muscles tensing. I couldn't see who was inside; the car's windows were tinted. But, with agonising lethargy, one of the windows retracted. I stopped. My cigarette fell to the curb, forgotten.

The window had rolled down all the way. I caught sight of a man wearing a black, criminal's mask, and instantly stopped breathing.

I turned on my heel and bolted, panic slashing at my lungs. My heart hammered to the rhythm of my frenzied thoughts— _they found me they found me they found me_ it beat out, so fast the words were lost to the haze. Distantly, I heard the sound of a car door slamming, of heavy footsteps on the pavement. I glanced over my shoulder to see several black-masked men giving chase. I heard one of them spit something I didn't quite catch in harsh, furious French.

I sprinted across roads and through alleyways, trying to throw off my pursuers. I could hear them a few hundred metres behind me, utterly relentless. I figured they'd trained and were good at what they did, so—unlike me—probably wouldn't get tired anytime soon. Still, I knew more than a little about running away, so versed in the subject that I was. I aimed for the city centre, hoping to stumble across a crowd I could get lost in.

I ran and ran and ran. My breathing became ragged, barely fuelled by my shuddering lungs. My vision was becoming hazy with adrenaline, so I dug my fingernails into my palms to keep focus. It took every ounce of my iron will to disregard the aching stitch in my abdomen that only screamed louder for a reprieve with every hateful step. _They found me they found me they found me they found me they found me they—_

I didn't know if I was going to escape this time.

A roundabout loomed up ahead. Without hesitation, I plunged out onto the road. Drivers swerved and honked and roared profanity as I wove between cars, not bothering to slow my breakneck pace. The world was a wash of _RED AMBER GREEN_ and impulse over instinct. I leapt over the hood of a stationary car, ignoring the driver's shook fist.

Finally, I'd made it across the roundabout. I checked behind me, and they still hadn't stopped. _How had I not lost them?!_

Turning a corner, I emerged into a dark, musty alleyway. I took off down it, hoping it might diverge, but it didn't. I leapt over bottles of sea-green broken glass, over gaping potholes and patches of ice hidden in the darkness.

There! A dim flood of light at the end. Hope flared in my limbs as a final burst of adrenaline flooded them, and I hurtled towards it. But as I neared the light, doubt pooled in my gut—doubt, followed by disbelief, followed by bitter dismay. I'd reached a dead end. A yellow, murky lantern hung from a hook on the wall. Swearing viciously, I punched the wall. I was so fucking _dead._

I turned around, balling my fists. It might've looked like I was getting ready to fight, but really I was just trying to stop my hands from shaking. My pursuers raged down the alleyway, footsteps quick and sure.

The first one barrelled straight for me. I grabbed his shoulders and slammed him into the wall, but his fist flew out, landing straight in my stomach. Trying not to double over, I kneed the guy in the balls, but already two more came at me. Punches flew, bloodying my nose and lip. I kicked and swung and spat but they pinned me to the wall, beating me until blood ran into my mouth and I couldn't stand on my own two feet.

I was far too limp to fight back. They wrestled me to the floor, securing my hands behind me with zip-ties. "Fucking—let me _go,_ " I croaked. I could feel my vision starting to fade. Something wet and warm trickled down the side of my face.

One of them squatted down in front of me, tilting her head. Brown eyes, black mask. Utterly expressionless. " _C'est fini, petit coureur,_ " she whispered. She flipped me off, an ugly laugh bursting from between her lips.

A cold, languid delirium washed over me. Slowly, sluggishly, I fell into oblivion.

When I came to, it was still dark. I blinked and tried to sit up, but groaned in pain when my already sore head bashed against a hard, low ceiling. The muffled sound of honking car horns and the rumble of an engine reverberated around me. The realisation did not so much dawn on me as come crashing down, wrapping around my lungs and throat, squeezing, squeezing.

I was locked in the trunk of a car. Instantly, I started shaking. I couldn't get out, I couldn't move, I couldn't _breathe._ I hated tight spaces with a passion. With them came suffocation—a stupid phobia of mine. But right then, it didn't seem so stupid.

I forced myself to calm down, focusing on inhaling in, out, in, out. Slow. First things first: my hands were zip-tied. These I knew I could escape. I had before. Ignoring the biting pain as the ties cut into my skin, I pushed my wrists as far apart as they could go, raised my arms up behind them back, then slammed my hands down towards my waist with all the force I could muster.

After a couple of rounds of this, my hands were free. I sighed in relief, rubbing my chafed wrists. My phone was where I'd left it, in my back pocket—the bastards hadn't thought to take it off me yet, thank God. I flipped it open, and it glowed to life. Only five percent charge left. I opened my contacts, pressing _Beauty Queen,_ then _Call Mobile._ I winced at the loud ringtone, quickly lowering the volume. "Pick up, pick up," I muttered. She didn't. I rang her again to the same effect. Again. Again. Again. I received her voicemail every _fucking_ time.

I called Roxanne—fruitlessly. She had lectures in the mornings. Desperation was beginning to set in, a raging animal in my gut. I stared at Annabeth's contact. I was out of time. I called her, chewing my lip so hard I tasted blood.

"Hello?" she said, voice clear and steady and everything I'd forgotten it was supposed to be.

"Hi, um, it's Percy," I replied, voice low. "I'm kind of scared and alone and in danger even though you probably won't believe me, um, I've already tried calling everyone else and nobody picked up and—"

She cut off my rambling. "Christ, you're in danger? Where are you?"

"I, uh, I don't know. They've got me in the trunk of their car."

The line was silent for a few moments. When Annabeth spoke again, she sounded uncertain. "You'd better not be pulling some fucking sick joke, Jackson—"

"I'm not, I'm not, I swear," I whispered. I choked on a breath. "Annabeth, it's really dark in here and I can't really breathe and _God,_ I'm scared, I'm scared."

"Do you need me to call the police?"

"No!" I blurted. She couldn't; they'd ask for identification. I wasn't legally allowed to be in Paris—or in Europe for that matter. "I mean…I'd rather you didn't. Please." I hated how fucking fragile I sounded.

Silence again on her end. I could hear her breathing gently, considering. "You said you're in the trunk of _their_ car? Who's _they_?

I hesitated. "I can't really explain right now."

Annabeth took a deep breath. "Okay, Percy, I want you to try and kick out the tail lights. If you can't move your feet, punch them out."

I ran my fingers around the walls of the trunk, tracing the smooth, cool planes of plastic. It was difficult to tell which direction I was facing, and the car's trunk was so small and cramped I was pretty much doubled over in the fetal position. Eventually, I found what I figured must have been the tail lights—two squarish panels sitting adjacent to each other.

With a sharp inhalation, I punched the one closest to me. I repeated the action three, four, five times, gritting my teeth against the brutal singing of my knuckles. Thankfully, the tail light loosened. I pushed it out. It clattered onto the road outside, and brash daylight streamed inside in its place. "Done," I whispered into my phone. I looked out, relieved when I saw my kidnappers hadn't left the city. In fact, I even recognised where we were: a small suburb in north-eastern Paris. I told Annabeth whereabouts I thought I was.

"Okay, okay," she muttered. I could hear her fast footsteps on the other end of the line. "Text me exactly where you've stopped when you're stationary, yeah? I'm coming. Sit tight."

I faltered. "Wait! Annabeth, don't come alone. If it's too risky, you stay away, alright? And you'd better be fucking careful—"

A harsh laugh. "Oh, don't worry. I'll be careful." She hung up with a click.

I waited, trying not to breathe too deeply. Each moment that came and went was cruel and cold and sluggish, akin to a lifetime of fear. I counted the seconds feverishly, careful and even. _75, 76, 77, 78..._ A ceaseless onslaught of time ticked by.

But when the car finally slowed to a halt for good, I almost wished the wait could've never ended. I checked through the hole where the tail light had used to be, already texting Annabeth where we'd stopped. I knew it was unfair to expect her to help me, someone she barely knew—someone who'd been a total stranger just a few days ago.

She couldn't help me. I knew that; I wasn't naïve. I wasn't caught up in some delusion that I could actually escape this time. But at the very least she could tell Piper that I hadn't just upped and left, leaving her alone.

The trunk opened. Brutal sunlight and blunt hands both callous in equal measure grabbed at me, and I was hauled out of the trunk. It took all my strength to stand on my own two feet. They slapped a blindfold over my eyes, reducing my world to darkness once again. When they saw I'd got my zip ties off, they restrained me with handcuffs instead.

My captors lead me somewhere, dragging me along with rough hands bunched in my shirt. I didn't let my lip tremble, nor dare to curl in on myself. Instead, I walked with my chin up, spine straight, head held high. It was easier to feign bravery than feel it, after all. We walked for a few minutes. Every step was a fresh plume of fire arcing through the bruises and cuts all over my body. It was hard not to feel like a cripple, especially when I couldn't see.

They shoved me into a cool metal chair and re-cuffed my hands to something in front of me. I gasped involuntarily when my blindfold was ripped off. I was in an interrogation room. The door closed and locked behind the last of the guards.

A one-way mirror stretched blankly in front of me, showing me nothing but my own frayed reflection. My hair was matted with thick blood from a cut on my head, and a viciously purple black eye was already blossoming on the left side of my face. One of my contacts had come out somewhere along the line and now my gaze was brazenly multi-coloured.

The appraisal of that one vivid green eye was too much for me to bear. _This is who you are, this is who you're running from,_ it screamed, louder, louder, stripping me to the skin.

I stopped looking at my reflection, but there was nothing much else to distract myself with. Time passed like a fluid. I bounced my knee, hummed a song, picked at the ridged scars on my cuffed hands. Sitting still had never been a virtue of mine, but with adrenaline coursing through my veins it began to feel a little like psychological torture. I knew they were probably watching me through the security camera up by the ceiling but by now I was beyond caring.

The door opened. A woman walked in, and within a heartbeat my flight instinct kicked into overdrive. I screwed up my fists, knuckles white.

"Percy." The woman gave a half-smile, expression utterly unreadable. Her presence dredged up a plethora of unwanted bad memories.

I nodded jerkily. "Juno." She sat down opposite me across the table, lacing her fingers before her. Everything about her reflected exactly how she appeared in my memories—black hair cropped to the chin, eyes a spill of dark ink. A familiar tattoo still adorned her forearm: the letters _SPQR,_ written in careful, discreet lettering. A perfect twin with mine in every aspect except that the one I had was on my neck, below my ear. While she wore hers proudly, adorned with golden bands and bracelets, I still covered mine up with foundation. Both its placement and my hateful regard of it made it seem more like a prisoner's serial number.

The door opened twice more as a couple of Juno's lackeys entered. I did not fail to notice the tray laden with knives they wheeled in behind them. Too soon they left, leaving me alone and caged with a wolf.

Juno produced a small compact mirror from her pocket and took a few moments to redo her crimson lipstick. I tried to quell my hammering pulse. I opened my mouth, then shut it again, then spoke. "Would you like to address the elephant in the room, or shall I?" My voice was quiet and raw, but unwavering.

Juno finished up with her lipstick, humming with satisfaction. She finally turned her attention to me, ignoring my previous question. "I must say, Percy, I think I preferred you with black hair." When I didn't comment, she went on. "Blue contacts, too…" She reached out for my face, almost plaintive if I didn't know better. "Looks like you're missing one, darling."

I ducked my head to avoid her reaching fingers, a snarl already on my lips. "What the hell do you want? It's been seven years. You'd think he might be bored with searching by now." I shot out a harsh laugh. "He still misses Mom, huh?"

Juno tutted. "Gabriel, you mean? If you define _miss_ as _tears the world apart looking for her_ , I imagine you're on the right lines." She smiled, a perfect act. "But, Percy…I hope you know _you_ have been missed."

"What, by Gabe?" I laughed again, uglier than before. Fear really did turn me insane.

Juno looked sad. Instead of replying, she stood up. "You may come in now," she called. Two men and a woman I didn't know entered—presumably Gabe's subordinates. One walked around to stand behind me. He put two hands on my arms, holding me down. I knew why. God, I knew why.

"Not gonna do it yourself?" I spat. I writhed in the man's grip, though the effort was completely, undeniably futile.

"It was easier," Juno murmured, "when you were younger." With that, she left.

One of the men sat down where Juno had, while the woman came and stood by my right side. I tried not to think about the metal tray sitting half a metre away from me. "Alright, kid," the man in front of me began, speaking French. I dimly wondered how they'd found out I knew the language. He had a scar slicing right the way down one side of his face and neck, so long it brushed his collarbone. His eyes were blue, light enough to be almost white. But, horrendous as he appeared, he was probably better than Juno. "We can break you either a little bit, or a lot, depending on how much you choose to tell us. Understand?"

I did not dignify him with a nod.

"Do you know where Sally Ugliano is at present?"

"Sally Jackson," I corrected, unable to help it. "And I buried her corpse just east of Vannes, if that's what you mean."

He just stared, then nodded to his associate beside me. Before I could protest, she grabbed my right pinky finger, shattering it in one swift motion.

I cried out, guttural and hoarse. " _God!_ I'm not lying, I swear! She killed herself, how does Gabe not _know_ that?!"

The man didn't even have to nod this time. Without warning, the woman snapped my ring and index fingers. An influx of shitty memories clawed their way to the surface of my thoughts. Memories of pain, of Juno burning my hands, breaking them again and again until every joint healed wrong and swollen and crooked.

This time, I screamed through gritted teeth. "What the fuck do you bastards want to hear? That she's alive? Well, she's not!"

Scar-face laughed. "Did you kill her?"

"Say that again and you're dead."

He folded his arms across his chest, cocking his head. "Well, did you kill her, Percy Jackson?"

I spat at him for the insinuation. "She shot herself, scar-face _._ "

Blinding rage flashed across his features. "Liar," he seethed. Then, to the woman: "Use a knife."

Obediently, the woman selected a small knife from her array. She went for my arm, but the man held up a hand. "No. Let's give the little boy a 'scar-face' of his own, shall we?"

She grabbed my jaw, turning me roughly toward her. Panic seized me, and I tried to get away, but the man behind me grabbed my neck and held me firm. She raised the blade to my cheek. White-hot pain emanated from where she dragged the knife with almost surgical precision. I bit my lip so hard that I tasted blood in an attempt to contain my inevitable scream, but it didn't work. Sick satisfaction was apparent in the woman's eyes. "You fucking sadist," I breathed.

Unlike her partner, she did not react to my insult. I supposed I should've been relieved. Still, the woman did not let go of my face, no matter how hard I tried to wrench away. Tears were already stinging my eyes. Seven years free had softened me, acted as sandpaper against my rough edges. "I hear you have a good voice," she whispered. She made another cut, parallel to the last. "Sing me a swan song, would you, little runaway?"

I said nothing, even as hot tears dripped down my cheeks, saltwater mixing with crimson blood. I hoped there was some crumpled copy of defiance in my mismatched eyes.

She released her grip.

They asked me a dozen more questions. I had nobody to lie for, so I just didn't, but often they chose not to believe me. Every one of my fingers was soon broken, along with my wrists. When they rolled up my sleeves, they found self-inflicted scars, but that did not stop them from inflicting new ones—some deep, some ragged, some bubbling with heat. Pain became first a constant, then it became irrelevant. I ignored their questions and retreated far away into some long-forgotten headspace I hadn't needed for seven years. A little deranged, I began to sing _Starman_ with what was left of my broken, raw voice. I wondered if that was my swan song after all.

When the door slammed open, I didn't look up. (I couldn't look up. I was half-sprawled, broken, on the interrogation table.)

When gunshots rang out, I did not stop singing. (I did not think to stop singing. Some part of me still hoped it would drown out my screaming nerves.)

When someone undid my handcuffs, I finally fell unconscious. (There was only relief—relief that the pain would go away. Waking up was not a concern of mine.)

* * *

ANNABETH

As I drove, I kept glancing down at where my fingers gripped the handlebars. There was blood on my hands, under my nails, and it was not my own.

I'd murdered everyone in the building, but that wasn't the scary thing. The scary thing was that I knew I'd do it a hundred, a thousand times over for the person slumped against me on the back of my motorcycle. He kept drifting in and out of consciousness. In the moments he was awake, he always cried out and tried to curl his ruined hands into fists. I had to stop the bike every thirty seconds to readjust him and offer comforting words, but I wasn't even certain Percy heard them.

It took us almost an hour to reach my safe house—a tiny apartment somewhere in the broken parts of Paris. Thank God my apartment was on the ground floor, as I didn't know if I'd have been able to drag him up several flights of stairs. As it was, it felt like a Herculean effort to get him onto the couch. Having made him comfortable, I grabbed some bandages, splints and antiseptic to clean and dress his wounds. I was by no means a qualified professional, but I'd had to tend to my own injuries enough. He winced and stirred when I pressed alcohol to each individual cut. Splinting his fingers was harder and took the longest. I did his arms quickly, feeling somehow invasive when I touched the faded scars there.

When I finished bandaging him up, I threw a blanket over him but didn't switch off the light. I didn't know if it was a good idea for him to wake up alone in the darkness. I left him and went into my little kitchen to rummage through the cupboards. I had several days' worth of food and supplies tucked away.

I found some instant coffee and made myself some. Back in the lounge, Percy was still asleep, so I treaded quietly and selected a book off the shelf for me to read. I kept a few of my favourites in the safe house because the prospect of going weeks without reading material sounded like shit to me. It was laughable, I supposed, but why the hell not?

I was about halfway through _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ when Percy began to wake. He did it slowly, haltingly, in fits and starts. When he finally regained consciousness, he squinted at the sunlight falling into his eyes from the window. "What the—" he murmured, raising a bandaged arm with a wince. I closed my book quietly, dog-earing the page to keep my place. I watched him try to sit up and promptly fall back on the couch, groaning.

"You're at my place," I said gently.

Percy only looked vaguely surprised. "Oh, it _is_ you." Then, quieter: "I thought that was a dream. You—on the motorbike. Saving me." He turned his arm over, admiring his bandages and the ten splints in his fingers. "You're pretty good at this medical stuff, huh?" The seconds ticked by, an incessant, brutal reminder of our silence. When he spoke, his voice was hardly audible. "I can't…I can't believe you came."

I hadn't noticed before as he'd been unconscious, but his eyes were startlingly mismatched. One was his old blue, muted and quiet. Fake. The other one, the real one, was green. Lucid but not bright, a dark splash of raging ocean. I sort of preferred it; green seemed more like _him._ "You're lucky," I managed, but it was too small a statement. _Who are you?_ I wanted to ask. _Why did they hurt you? What have you done to them?_

"Thank you," he said suddenly. "For everything. You didn't have to."

I blinked. What the hell did I say to that? I hesitated. "I did have to." The words hung between us, thicker than air and strangely choking.

Percy shrugged off the awkwardness, reaching out. "Help me sit up?" His mouth quirked, and I smiled back, mirroring him. Wordlessly, I helped him into a sitting position. He patted the couch beside him, brows raised.

I hesitated for an instant but sat down eventually. "So. Any explanations to offer?"

He pinched his lips together. "Just, ah…some people don't like me."

I snorted. "Evidently."

He hit me, but it was so pathetic with his broken hands that we both laughed. A moment later, he leant his head on my shoulder. "I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad I am too," I said wryly.

He rolled his eyes. "Sure, sure." Our gazes met, his stare a tidal wave of conflicting green and blue against mine. "Can you pass my jacket?" I did so, and he rummaged inside it until he found a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. "Oh, thank fuck." He lit one, dragging long and deep. Blowing the smoke away to the side, he sighed in relief.

"Those things are like little time bombs," I said. "Still, guess I wouldn't peg you as the type to care about lung cancer."

His laugh was hoarse. Taking another drag, he stared me in the face, a petty smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "This is exactly how much I care," he replied, and promptly blew a thick cloud of smoke across the room.

"You're impossible," I muttered, flapping a hand to disperse it.

He laughed again, silent. "Yeah, well, you're insufferable." Settling his head in my lap, he took a final puff of his fag and set it onto the coffee table beside him for later. A lock of red hair had fallen across his face, framing the shoddy bandages I'd used to hide the awful gouges they'd cut into his face. I brushed the strands aside, fingers shaking a little. He smiled up at me, eyelids fluttering as he drifted into sleep. His lashes rested on his cheeks, long and black and gently curling.

It was strange how when he slept, all the pent-up emotion slowly disappeared from his face. His brows unknotted, his jaw unclenched, his breathing evened out, finally unhindered. I stroked his hair absently, staring out the window at the slowly darkening city outside.

In no time at all, I fell asleep too.

* * *

 **Hey, guys. Sorry this is a little late but I've actually been revising (shocking, I know) for my mocks that are in like two weeks. Having said that, I literally just killed like 10 hours I should've spent revising writing this in Starbucks instead of writing it over the holiday like a reasonable human being, so yeah uh I hate myself? this chapter's not edited WHOOPS i'm sure you all love me :) Also if I linked the Pinterest board I made for this in the next chapter, would you be interested? idk I mean it's just basically an aesthetic kinda thing**

 **Shoutout to** _ **mylifeisogre**_ **, you're amazing :) thanks so much for the praise and continued support xx**


	5. Folie à Deux

**CHAPTER FIVE:** **FOLIE À DEUX**

ANNABETH

I woke in the night after a few rare hours of rest. Percy was still sleeping, his head in my lap. His red hair was fanned around his face, a soft halo of crimson. I carefully eased him off, quickly moving a cushion under his head as a pillow. Without his heat, I was bitterly cold—this place didn't have heating and I was bare-armed. I rummaged through the safe house's wardrobe and found a thick, woollen grey jumper, which I pulled on over my clothes from yesterday. They were bloodstained and smelled badly of sweat but I couldn't be bothered to change entirely.

I made myself some coffee and headed over to the window seat. A shaft of idle moonlight fell through the clear, single-paned glass, creating a pool of molten silver on the floorboards. Percy's jacket lay discarded on the seat, a black heap of torn leather. I sat down, shifting it to the side to make room. Something tumbled out of one of its pockets, landing with a faint _thump_ on the ground. I bent down and picked it up. A notebook—small, and bursting at the seams with notes and loose pieces of paper.

I wanted to open it. I held it with some reverence, hardly daring to breathe. I knew I shouldn't; it was probably rude, not to mention a breach of trust. But my instincts whispered at me, prodding harder with every second I delayed. Eventually, I swallowed the lump in my throat and flipped it open, resting it on my crossed legs. On the inside cover, _Percy Jackson_ was written in messy, sprawling script. Sick to my stomach, I tried not to feel like a trespasser. I flicked through a few of the first pages, skimming Percy's work. His handwriting was only barely legible, but I didn't mind.

Most of his songs were strangely styled, almost poems instead of anything you'd sing. Some were French, some English, and others a mixture of both. I wished—not for the first time—that I could speak the language, if only so I could piece together the cacophonous thoughts he'd emptied onto the pages. I hardly dared to breathe, afraid of disturbing the raw emotion in the songs. As I read, I traced his shadow-black lines of writing with a hesitant fingertip, every word a spill of oil in a pearl-white sea. I always did this while reading. It was an unbroken habit left over from when I was younger that'd used to help with my dyslexia when I was learning to read.

I spent untold hours enjoying his songs, his poems, his crazy, half-baked ideas pulled from a mind that could've both started and ended wars with the boundless passion it contained. Beside me, my coffee sat cold and forgotten. I found myself bobbing my head, singing Percy's lyrics in my head, trying to imagine the rhythm he'd intended for them. Every song was unique to the rest, a few tinged with dry sarcasm, others distressingly poignant. His writing was a welcome reprieve from the typical over-embellished love songs you'd always hear on the radio—it was a gasp of oxygen after drowning, intricate words and phrases turned on their heads and crammed into new contexts you'd never think could work but somehow did.

My breath caught in my throat as I stumbled across a new poem. I read it aloud, quietly. " _Hands that burn hymns up your sides,"_ I whispered. I spoke the words slowly, carefully, for fear of ruining it. " _I confess how long I have searched for a place to worship, and oh, you bring me to my knees. I sink to the floor with a moan—like I can't help myself—and you wonder if the other angels fell so sweet."_

An impressionistic charcoal sketch of a winged figure had been hastily scribbled beside it. Their head was tilted up, toward the skies (heaven?) and their hands were clutched together, pleading. It was simple and quick and should've been worth less than a second's appraisal, but its harsh, scratching lines and rough edges conveyed unbearable pain and frustration and loneliness. It seemed like sacrilege to turn the page.

But as I did, my heart thudded to a stop. Two blank pages in their entirety had been consumed by a name scrawled a hundred times over: _Annabeth_ , again and again and again. Almost a burn book, but the opposite.

"Can you…can you maybe not read that? Please?"

I jumped, a deer in the headlights, and slammed the notebook shut. Percy had woken up and was watching me from the couch, brows raised accusingly. He'd taken out his remaining blue contact and now his gaze was the way I supposed it always should have been—ocean green and stupidly disarming.

I fought off my blush, scowling. "Don't leave your fucking possessions lying around my apartment, then." I dropped his notebook back onto his jacket, head still spinning from the weight of my name on the pages of his notebook.

Percy said nothing. He fidgeted with the newly crimson bandages on his arms. He shook his head and scoffed to himself like he couldn't believe what he was about to say. "Well, what did you think of them?"

"Of…them?"

"The songs, the poems." He waved a broken hand in an all-encompassing gesture. "All the shit in my head."

I was quiet for a few moments. I opened my mouth, chose not to reply, and closed it again. I stood up and picked up the box of medical supplies on the kitchen table along with the surgical scissors. Still silent, I held out a palm. "Your hand?"

A slow nod of consent. I set to work cutting off the old, red bandages around his splints and redoing them, fingers practised and nimble. It was strange doing this with him awake, surveying me as I worked. I tried not to make him wince, tried to be gentle. When I finished, I moved on to his arms. But when I went to take one of his bandaged forearms, he snatched it away on impulse. Hot shame burned in his shadowed eyes. We sat in the dark, and without light, their green was more like grey. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I guess you've already seen them anyways, huh?" He wasn't looking at me.

Gently, I took his arm back and cut off the bloodied gauze, then set to dabbing alcohol on the cuts and burns he'd received from his interrogators. Under them lay pale, ghostly white slashes, horizontal and thin as a razor. "Don't apologise," I finally said, and finished up. "Everyone kills their sadness some way or another." I offered him a half-smile and stood up, gathering all the ruined gauze in my arms. I headed off to dump it in the bin.

When I returned, Percy was flipping through his songbook. I'd make a couple of mugs of coffee for us both—it was nearly four AM, and I doubted either of us would sleep now—and left one on the coffee table where he could reach it. Having made myself comfortable on the armchair beside the couch, I drank mine still sizzling hot, scalding my tongue on the foam. The room was silent for a moment. Outside, the sun hid just below the horizon, wondering if it should rise.

"You never answered my question," Percy suddenly said.

I looked up from my coffee. "Hmm?"

"My songs. You know, what were your thoughts?"

I sighed, deciding to let slip a little honesty. "They were crazy. Unique. Dark. Beautiful." A breath of hesitation, then: "I liked them." Percy nodded like I'd told him some solemn secret. He leant down toward the table for his forgotten half-smoked cigarette, but I grabbed it, tucking it into my pocket. "Nuh-uh. Coffee first."

He snorted. "Trying to swap out one addiction for another, Beth?"

With a shrug, I met his eyes. "Gotta pick your poison, right?"

"Gotta pick your battles, too." He slid a fresh fag out of the box in his pocket and slipped one into his mouth, flashing me a charming smile. He lit it with a wink—like he'd somehow outsmarted me.

* * *

I'd been avoiding checking my phone. It vibrated every few minutes, pinging with notifications. Reyna and Jason had left me a dozen concerned messages, most along the lines of: _Are you okay? Are you safe? You've been missing from the debriefs._ In our line of work, I supposed the check-ins were unsurprising. I realised they'd had their mission yesterday, the one I'd planned with Jason in a midnight haze. I replied to them both, asking them how it went. I let them know I wasn't dead and had just been running a few personal errands.

When morning came, I showered—finally—and watched with sick fascination as the crusted blood on my skin that wasn't my own came unstuck and ran in rivulets down into the drain. I washed my hair and shaved my pits, needing to replace my usual veneer of normality. Afterwards, I wrung out my hair to let it air-dry, wishing I had some argan oil to tame my curls. I changed into a shirt and a pair of faded grey jeans and tucked a knife into a hidden sheath at my thigh, but not before a moment of deliberation.

Percy had gotten up from the coach and now sat in my window seat. A book lay in his lap. It was one from my shelf: _The Day of the Triffids._ He spooned dry cereal into his mouth at intervals as he read. He carefully turned a page, splinted fingers plagued with a tremor at the strain. I didn't know how he could do it—still use his hands, even through the pain.

"You liking it so far?"

He glanced up at me, then continued reading. "I dunno. Kinda. It's a cool concept." We were silent for a few moments then he said, "You ever wonder which type of person you'd be? Lucky or not so lucky?" I knew he was talking about the book, where most people on Earth went blind after witnessing a beautiful meteor shower.

I laughed, shaking my head. "It's really just a matter of whether or not you _could_ watch _._ I mean, if you were able to watch this amazing, God-given event, wouldn't you?"

Percy nodded. He chewed sullenly on the bandage at his wrist, eyes still tracing the pages. I paused, then turned away to grab breakfast.

* * *

"Annabeth, I'm bored. I'm bored. I'm so. Fucking. Bored." Percy lay sprawled across the coach, arm in the air. " _When I was thirteen, I had my first love. Nobody could compare to my baby and nobody came between us, no one could ever come above..._ "

"Wow, you really can't rap."

He whined, trying to kick me, and nearly fell off the coach in the process. "Let's go walking. Fresh air and all that shit."

I cocked a brow. "Are you joking or really just a dumbass?"

He yawned and stretched out, resting his feet on my thighs. "The second one."

I rolled my eyes, but was actually kind of considering. It'd been three going on four days cooped up in here, and I too felt disgustingly close to rapping _Baby_ in an attempt to quell my crippling boredom. I looked outside, fingers drumming on my knee. It was early morning now, almost sunrise. Maybe it would be fine if we stuck to the quieter streets. I thought for another few moments, then gave in. "Yeah, okay. Fuck it."

A little later, I laced up my boots, pulling the knots tight. I stood up and cricked my neck, glancing at my watch: quarter to eight. Percy was still getting his shoes on. "C'mon, hurry up."

"Sorry, just…give me a second."

I looked over to him, bent at the waist. He let out a barely audible gasp of discomfort as he struggled to tie his laces, broken fingers shaking badly. Without a word, I crouched down before him, gently pushing his hands away, and tied them for him. "You were taking too long."

He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn't.

Outside, it was almost warm. There was no wind, and the last traces of ice and snow had disappeared from the sidewalk. We walked down the forgotten streets of Paris, enjoying the quietude. A cigarette burned almost to the filter hung from Percy's parted lips, and every so often he'd exhale a new cloud of smoke into the still morning air.

Our pace was slow, and I had to wait periodically for Percy when his injuries hurt too badly, but I had to admit it was nice to be outside, and alone with someone who didn't know about my life outside theirs. We hardly spoke, each content with the comfortable silence, instead listening to the never-ending white noise of the city in the background. I scuffed the ground with my boot with each step, hands buried deep in my pockets to keep warm.

"So, Annabeth," Percy said out of the blue, voice slurred slightly around his fag. "Feel like hinting at how you're quite so good at shooting?"

"Dad taught me to handle a gun." It wasn't even a lie, but there was still so much untruth in the words.

Percy scoffed. "At least tell me something about you that, you know, _tells_ me something about you."

My gaze flickered over to meet his, which was already trained on my face. "Only if you tell me something about yourself in return. And nothing personal, yeah?"

He hummed. "Deal."

"Okay, what do you want to know?" We turned down a small, side road between two buildings, and suddenly the fading sun was on us.

He smiled, taking a drag from his cigarette. "Let me think…oh! Favourite song?"

I rolled my eyes. "Really? That's the best you can think of?"

He gave a sarcastic pout. "Beth, you wound me." I elbowed him. With a cry of protest, he elbowed me back. "Well, go on, then."

"What, my favourite song?" He nodded, and I sighed. "I don't know. Guess I don't really listen to music."

"Really? No. No way. I don't believe it." He narrowed his eyes at me, scrutinising. "You've got that vibe."

I laughed. "I've got that vibe, have I? What's the vibe?"

"Like…okay, okay. Like you'd be someone who'd literally fall in love with music after one concert or whatever."

I shrugged. "Never been to a concert."

"Nah, me neither. Loads of gigs over the past year with Piper, but I came to love it way before that; becoming friends with her wasn't how I started singing."

"How did you, then?"

He didn't reply for a moment, lost in thought. Then, almost inaudibly, an answer: "My mom. She'd always sang since childhood and writing was her passion, so to combine both seemed a good idea." As he raised his cigarette once again to his lips, bitter nostalgia was etched into his face.

I moved on, changing the subject. "Right, I get a question now."

"You didn't even answer my first one!"

I flapped a hand. "I said I didn't _have_ a favourite song. It counts."

He blew smoke at me. "Fine. Fire away."

"Okay, uh…" I knew what I really wanted to ask, but there wasn't a chance in hell I'd get a straight answer. Besides, I liked—this. Whatever _this_ was: companionship, friendship. My ruining it was inevitable, but that didn't mean it had to be soon. "What's your favourite colour?"

He didn't reply for a second, having finished his cigarette and was going for another. I watched with disdain as he struggled to get out his cigarette box, his messed-up hands refusing to comply. He flashed me a charming smile. "Help me?"

I crossed my arms. "No. Answer first."

"Okay. Blue. My favourite colour is blue. Now can you help, Beth?"

"Would you quit calling me Beth?" I fixed him with a dirty look as I plucked the box out of his back pocket and lit one for him, handing it to him. "I should really get another question, for that."

Percy pouted, baby seal eyes in overdrive. The innocence was so ridiculously incongruous to the vicious cuts on his face that I might've laughed. He shook his head. "Nope. My question now." He watched me, searching for inspiration, brows furrowed in thought. Suddenly, he tapped my sleeved arm. "I know you've got a tattoo under there. Tell me about it?"

Instinctively, my hand went to touch my arm, stuttering in an up-down motion before falling back to my side. I knew what he was talking about—the huge, curling angel wing draped down the back of my shoulder blade and left arm. I had more tattoos, but this was one I could actually tell him about without spilling secrets. I stared at the sidewalk, counting the cracks. "I got it two years ago, spur-of-the-moment. One of my old friends has a matching one on the opposite arm to mine." _Luke,_ I thought, but didn't dare to say.

"Can I maybe see it?"

My lips quirked. "Is that another question you're using up?"

"No—no. You don't have to, I mean…" He trailed off, uncertain. I nodded slowly, shucking off my jacket. I rolled up the short sleeve of my T-shirt and turned around, displaying most of it except the part that stretched onto my back.

Percy exhaled sharply and reached out, almost subconsciously. The very tips of his light, bandaged fingers trailed down the feathers. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "Beautiful," he murmured. A small, sombre smile tugged at his mouth. "All ready to take flight, huh?"

I shrugged. "Think I'd probably need a second wing for that." Percy glanced away from my tattoo to lock his gaze on mine. Fire raged in his eyes, reminiscent of when we'd first met. I had to look away, it burned so badly. "Have _you_ got any tattoos?" I asked. In my peripheral, I saw Percy stiffen. His head did this weird nod/shake thing, utterly conflicted. "You don't have to—" I started, but he interrupted me.

"No, I will. You showed me yours." He took a deep breath and folded down his collar, bearing the naked skin of his neck to me. Below his ear was written _SPQR_ in small, blocky lettering. Black ink against tan skin, it seemed almost more of a brand than anything else.

"The old Roman insignia." My voice was soft when I spoke again. "Did you…choose it?" _Was it forced on you?_

His subsequent silence was enough of an answer for me. Something swelled in my chest; he'd knowingly given me an inkling of his past, and I was grateful.

Ahead of us, the sun was finally coming out to play. It rose like a flower bud might open, spiralling out in jagged splinters of washed-out colour, forcing away the lingering darkness. The parking lot we'd walked onto was suddenly awash with pale light. Percy tossed his finished cigarette onto the ground and crushed it under his boot. He tilted his head up, facing the warm sun. His eyelids fluttered shut, lashes creating dark, spidering shadows on his cheekbones. I couldn't help but be reminded of the angel he'd drawn in his notebook, gazing heavenward. "Final question," he murmured. I braced myself, but all he asked was, "What happens at the end of _The Day of the Triffids_?"

A surprised, choking laugh escaped me. Of course he'd ask something like that. "They survive," I said. "They make it." Percy opened his eyes and smiled at me. Then he mirrored my laugh, spreading his arms out wide. He turned once, twice, and then he was spinning, enjoying the unfamiliar, gorgeously warm sunlight that was such a change from the bitter cold we'd been subject to all January.

"Careful, you're injured!" I called, but a smile akin to his was already bursting to life on my face. He slowly came to a halt and reached out a hand for me, palm upturned. A heartbeat later, I took it, my own fingers barely brushing his damaged ones so as not to hurt him. A grin on his face, he twirled me around like someone in a music video and pulled me close, resting his forehead against mine. We swayed to some beat real only to us, caught up in the enchantment of this strange, timeless city.

Percy started humming a hoarse, delicate melody. His voice was slightly rasping—a musician's quirk that'd probably grow worse, undoubtedly forged by cigarettes. Dimly, I wondered why he constantly risked his singing to smoke. Then I wondered if that was the point.

I pushed the thought to the back of my mind and instead did nothing but listen to him hum his song, losing myself to the perfect notes and this imperfect boy. Neither of us pulled away. In that instant, we were just two tired teenagers caught in a painful _folie_ _à deux_ , slow-dancing in an abandoned parking lot, unseen and unheard by the universe outside.

* * *

 **Hey guys, you can find my Pinterest account containing the aesthetic board for this story if you search my fanfiction username on Pinterest. It's not my personal account as I made an alternate one for stories I upload here xx**

 **Thanks for all the continued reviews and support :)**


	6. La Vie En Rose

**CHAPTER 6: LA VIE EN ROSE**

PERCY

I stood outside Roxanne's door, Annabeth beside me. I'd managed to convince her that I needed to let my friends know I was okay, and anyway I doubted that this place was under surveillance anymore. We hadn't knocked yet. Absently, I chewed on the quickly fraying bandages on my wrist, mind in a whirl. I should cover these up—shouldn't I? I unrolled the sleeves on my jacket all the way so they draped entirely over the splints on my fingers, concealing both them and the gauze.

Annabeth fiddled with a switchblade, a habit of hers I doubted I'd ever grow accustomed to. Her hair, long and blonde, a few shades fairer than butterscotch, was still slightly damp, piled in a bun atop her head. A few short, curling strands had come loose and fell haphazardly afore her face. She had a ruthless look about her—all harsh grey eyes and cruel, full lips and lithe limbs coiled tight with all the impetus of a thunderstorm.

I wondered the other Annabeth had gone. The first one, dressed in torn red silk, enchanted by my performance.

"What should we say happened?" she asked, not bothering to turn and face me. "About, you know…those." She waved a hand toward the brutal gouges on my face.

"I was mugged," I decided. "You found me afterwards, and I didn't want to go to the hospital so you took me back to yours to get cleaned up." I supposed at least some parts of it were true.

Annabeth nodded. She slipped her blade into the cuff of her jacket and rolled her wrist, cricking the joints in it. Without warning, she reached up and knocked.

" _Qu'est-ce?_ " I heard Piper yell from within. _Who is it?_

"It's Percy," I called in reply. There was a scuffle inside, followed by footsteps. The lock clicked and the door banged open. Piper stood there, scowling. Her technicolour eyes were narrow with anger, accompanied by deep purple bags.

I offered her a tentative smile. She flew forward, embracing me hard. "Jackson!" Then she drew back and hit me, albeit not very hard. Launching into a steady flow of majorly degrading French insults, tears streamed down her face. "You can't just leave like that, you utter _morceau de merde_! _Dieu,_ look at your face!" She hugged me again, still crying.

I held her, for both her support and mine. She buried her face in my jacket and blew her nose loudly in the leather. I laughed, but I was crying too. "Sorry, Pipes. I'm okay. I'm okay, I swear."

Roxanne strode up to the doorway. "Who is it—Jesus Christ, Jackson, what happened to your _face_?"

Piper pulled away, wiping her eyes. She raised a trembling hand and traced the cuts on my face. Her lips were pressed tight together in a thin line. "Who did that to you?" she asked quietly.

The question was directed at me, but Annabeth replied. "He was mugged. I found him on the streets, pretty beaten up. He wouldn't let me call an ambulance, so I managed to get him back to my place and patched him up."

Piper's gaze finally landed on Annabeth. "You," she said. "You're the girl from that night. Annabeth, right? We drove you home."

Annabeth nodded. "You're lucky I found him."

Roxanne leant into Piper, slipping her still hand into Piper's shaking one. I wondered again what was going on with those two. "Why didn't you call? Piper was worried sick."

I rolled my eyes. "The bastards took my phone. Can we come in?"

Piper made us all some hot chocolate as Roxanne daubed some antiseptic on my sliced-up cheekbones. Annabeth sat perched on the armchair, as though she was prepared to get up and run at the slightest hint of trouble. I thanked Roxanne as she finished up. I saw Roxanne notice the splints on my fingers, but thankfully she chose to say nothing.

Piper walked back into the lounge, a plastic tray of hot chocolates balanced precariously on her arm. She'd cleaned herself up, and now there was no trace of tears on her face. Honestly, I envied the ability. With no scarcity of flourish, she slid the tray onto the coffee table without spilling a drop.

Roxanne cocked a brow. "Didn't know you bartended in your spare time."

"Nope, just you. I actually used to wait tables in a restaurant back in the good ol' days."

I snorted derisively. "Calm down. You're twenty; you're not old."

"You say that now, Jackson, but blink and I'll be twenty-five, blink again, thirty, blink again, fifty, blink blink blink blink—"

Roxanne forcibly clamped a hand over Piper's mouth. "Shut your face right now or you can be damn sure I'll punch it shut."

Annabeth watched all this unfold a little amusedly, hands folded in her lap. Her knuckles were pale as she clenched her hands together. I realised she was nervous. I reached over and touched her arm gently while Piper and Roxanne quarrelled, and she looked at me suddenly, surprised. Something scared hid in her face, vulnerable as a lone tree before a lightning strike. _We should run,_ it screamed, _run and hide and hide and hide_ —

"It's okay," I murmured. "I promise they can't find us here." She seemed to soften, then, and quickly looked away. I remembered how ruthless and dangerous I'd first thought her to be when I first saw her from that stage, singing in French and English until my vocal cords ached. And yes, she was ruthless, and she was dangerous, but those qualities did not comprise her entirely. There was also human fear, human compassion. Anything and everything those stiff, steel grey eyes did not let slip.

Figuring out that Annabeth Chase was not a concept made her even more terrifying than before.

We finished our hot chocolates in comfortable silence, watching Piper and Roxanne rant and laugh and toss around dumb song lyric ideas. Finally, Piper stood up. "You guys feel like coming up to the roof? I'm going for a fag."

Though I was loath to admit it, I'd been itching for a cigarette since we'd gotten in here. I nodded. "Sure. Coming, Beth?"

Annabeth stood up and knocked past me, following Piper. "Don't call me that." Still, I could hear the smile in her voice.

We headed to the roof—leaving Roxanne to have a nap—and raced each other up the winding staircase. I was out of breath and laughing by the time I made it outside, suddenly awash with sunlight. Annabeth was just a few steps behind me, face glowing with a smile.

Piper stood by the railing, already rolling a cigarette. We went over to join her. I shook my head and hopped up on the railing, already sticking a straight between my lips. "Still don't know how you can smoke roll-ups. They taste like shit if you ask me."

Piper scoffed. "No one did ask you, Jackson."

Annabeth wasn't listening. She'd let her eyes close and now leant against the cool iron railing, face turned toward the sun. I gestured for Piper to light my fag, which she did without a second thought—months spent enduring each other's company had forged old habits, and I guessed they died hard.

Annabeth started to hum the song I'd hummed earlier, a little absently. I didn't realise Piper was watching me watch Annabeth until I felt her elbow me. Piper grinned knowingly. Pointing her cigarette at Annabeth, she mouthed, _Her?_

I scowled, fixing her with a brutal glare. _Shut the fuck up._

Piper raised her hands in surrender. _All right, all right!_

We stayed on the roof for a while, Piper and I smoking 'til we only had one left between us. Noon rolled around, and the sun eventually went in. Annabeth, Piper and I lay on the floor, watching the shifting clouds above us.

"That one looks like a dragon," I mused.

"Where?" Annabeth asked, and I guided her head to the right line of sight, my bandaged fingers brushing ghost-like against her jaw. "Oh! I see what you mean, kind of."

Piper sang quietly to herself, French words hoarse. " _Qu'il me parle de tout bas, je vois la vie en rose..."_ She plucked the fag from between my lips, ignoring my cry of protest, and inhaled deeply. "Okay, you've converted me. Straights are better, even if they're hell on your bank account."

I elbowed her—but, you know, with love. "You don't even _have_ a bank account."

Suddenly, Roxanne appeared, looming down over us, blocking our view of the clouds. "What's up, losers? Not you, Annabeth. You're an angel and we're thrilled you're here."

"Stop misquoting Parks and Recreation," Piper groaned. She got to her feet and seized Roxanne's arm. "I'll take one for the team." Piper dragged her away, both of them laughing like little kids.

We were alone again. Silence hung heavy between us, every moment stretching into a lifetime. "That one kinda looks like a key," Annabeth mused. I nodded, words failing me.

Annabeth gazed at the clouds, occasionally pointing out another remarkable specimen. I didn't care much for the sky, though, instead content to steal a few minutes to unabashedly learn and relearn her face: the swell of her lips, the tiny scar under her left brow, and her blonde, gently curling eyelashes lit golden in the sunlight. Faint, dusty constellations freckled her cheeks, so lovely that I wondered if even the stars themselves got a little jealous sometimes.

Hours wasted away into nothing, and at last Annabeth had to leave. I accompanied her to the sidewalk, heart aching. "How will you get home?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Walk, I guess. It's about forty-five minutes from here."

I nodded, eyes on the cracked, gravelly concrete below our feet. Rain began to fall—hesitant, careful. I still could barely bring myself to look at her. "This," I began to say, then stumbled over the words. "This feels like the end."

Annabeth smiled softly. "Doesn't have to be."

A jolting surge of longing hit me. I almost reached for her, broken fingers and all. "We could text."

"You lost your phone."

"We could email, then." _Please, Annabeth,_ I didn't say.

She said nothing for a few moments, then, "Got a pen?"

I fished a Sharpie out of my jeans, realising it was the same one I'd given to her to use that first night we met. I held out a hand for her arm, and she gave it to me, rolling up her sleeve. I winced a little as I tried to write, ruined fingers wracked with a tremor.

"Do you want me to—"

"No. No, I've got it." I managed to finish scribbling down my email, exhaling shakily. It was barely legible, but Annabeth rolled down her sleeve with painstaking reverence, stopping it from bleeding in the rain. The parallel was almost suffocating, and I could not tear my eyes away from the beautiful mystery standing before me, her eyes instilled with some nameless emotion I could describe as nothing but ruinous.

My breath caught in my throat as she raised a delicate hand and traced the slash of my jaw with a calloused fingertip. "Thank you," she said, so quietly that the rain almost drowned her out. Before I could ask what her gratitude was for, she'd already left, a mirage in the haze.

Then I stood alone in the rain, mind whirling with blonde hair and grey eyes and self-destruction, self-destruction, self-destruction.

* * *

In the weeks it took my hands to heal, my life started again. I went to Helene and apologised for my absence. She didn't ask about my scarred face, just handed me my apron and told me to _Go make some fucking coffee, Jackson._ Piper decided I'd play some gigs with her next month, so we started writing and rehearsing new songs. Even Roxanne enlisted my help for a design she was working on and had me sit for a few hours while she sketched my likeness.

Everything was changing, but the biggest change was the occasional emails Annabeth and I had begun to trade back and forth. Her dry, sarcastic comments would usually bring a smile to my face, and I found myself writing to her late into the twilight hours, talking about my day, my night, and everything in between.

She'd always update me on whatever book she was reading and recommend it if it was good, and in return I gave her music to listen to—albums upon albums of songs that I thought she might like. I'd been right, it seemed, about her potential as a music-lover, because she always gushed her praises and asked for new artists to listen to. Eventually, I caved and made her a playlist, adding to it whenever I could.

Winter finally fell away, and spring seized the reins as it turned March. We'd received an unexpected heatwave, which for me was a little annoying as long sleeves were all I could wear. Still, it was nice to have a reprieve from the bitter winds and cold rain, and Piper and I worked together outside on the roof whenever we could. We still hadn't decided if we wanted to perform any of our original stuff yet, mainly due to my own hesitation—I hated the judgement on people's faces when you told them you'd be singing them something of your own.

I'd found a little electronic keyboard in a charity shop, and as it hadn't been crazy expensive, I'd taken it back with me. As it was now ten times easier for us to work on songs and covers, the investment had been worth it. I was using it now, trying to figure out if _Peach Pit_ would even sound good with a piano accompaniment.

" _Lift back and see the darkness hid, swallowed up and angled in, looking back at sweetness dim,_ " I sang, trying out what felt like the fiftieth chord arrangement we'd figured might work. "Wait, crap—"

Piper lay on her back, pen in her mouth and guitar on her stomach. She strummed a few notes of the harmony and hummed the vocals. "Okay, okay. Try that, but keep the melody how we had it before."

I did so, and the song seemed to fall into place. As I played, I watched my fingers press into the cheap plastic keys. It was still strange that my hands were almost entirely back to normal, with just a few twinges of pain if I ever exerted myself. Annabeth had done a pretty good job with the splints, but my left pinky and right index had healed crooked anyway. Obviously, it was my fault for not going to a hospital, but whatever. I had enough shit on my plate without having to deal with the police for identity theft, among other charges.

The following day, I dragged myself out of bed at six o'clock, groaning at my stupid alarm. I had to be in at the café by seven as I'd let Helene rope me into taking an early shift. I changed quickly and grabbed a piece of toast on my way out the door. I'd bought a new flip phone just to email Annabeth with. We really only talked in emails, as I didn't have much credit to text or call with. She'd sent me one just a couple minutes ago.

 _ **Annabeth:**_ _Just finished the midnight star, please read the series, I can't convince Reyna to and I need someone to cry with_

I smiled, already composing a reply.

 _ **You:**_ _stop recommending me books! I don't have time to read them all_

 _ **Annabeth:**_ _Pot calls the kettle black? you literally forced me to listen to a four-hour playlist last week_

 _ **You:**_ _a) you liked it so your argument is invalid b) I have no fucking clue what that idiom means_

 _ **Annabeth:**_ _a) playlist was passable b) look it up then, pot_

 _ **You:**_ _…okay urban dictionary says im being a hypocrite_

 _ **Annabeth:**_ _because you are_

We talked all the way to the café, and when I had to slip my phone away I wished we could've kept emailing for a little longer. _Pour Les Perdus_ hadn't opened yet, and was eerily quiet when I pushed open the doors. The shop was utterly deserted save for Helene, who stood at the counter, scribbling on receipts. Her flame-red hair was tucked behind her ear, exposing an array of silver piercings there. She didn't bother with a verbal greeting, only nodded as I walked in.

I started going through the motions, shrugging on a staff apron. The tables needed wiping down, as did the counter, and a few rows of records needed reorganising. Before I did anything, though, I thumbed through our vinyl, deciding on Jeff Buckley's _Grace._ I placed it on the record player and set the needle down randomly. His enchanting _Hallelujah_ came on, and instantly the world seemed to become a little more alive.

In no time at all, we opened, and a few customers started wandering in. Soon, the air was rich with the scent of black coffee and the quiet hubbub of voices. I waited tables, taking orders and smiling at strangers until I felt like dropping dead from exhaustion. I never failed to notice the way people's eyes always first went to my scarred face, then my scarred hands, then quickly flitted away as though embarrassed to look. _What happened to you?_ they wanted to ask, but were always too afraid.

Sometimes kids did, though. That morning, I served a mom and her child—a little girl, about five or six years old. The girl had crazy long black hair that spiralled in ringlets to her waist and was dressed in an Iron Man onesie. "Can I get a strawberry milkshake?" she asked her mom in excited French when I came over with a notepad.

The mom smiled and nodded. "Sure." She turned to me after studying the blackboard menu above the counter, and decided, "One strawberry milkshake and one flat white, please."

When the little girl looked up at me, her face turned rapt. I smiled tightly, knowing exactly what she was looking at. "Anything else, ma'am?"

The mom shook her head. "No, thank you—"

"How'd you get those cuts on your face?" the girl blurted out.

"Clio!" her mom gasped, apologising profusely to me. Clio looked immediately shy, and my heart broke at her cuteness.

I crouched down to her eye level, holding out my pinky finger. "If I tell you, will you swear to keep it a secret?" She nodded solemnly and shook my pinky. I glanced around dramatically before whispering, "I fought a supervillain."

She gasped. "You did? Are you a superhero? What's your superhero name?"

I just winked and left to fetch their orders.

It was almost three in the afternoon. My shift was almost over, now, and I was dead on my feet. Helene, seeing my exhaustion, had taken pity on me and assigned me counter duty so I could rest a little. I was busy preparing drinks for the huge, annoying group of private schoolers who only hung out at _Pour Les Perdus_ to look cool when I heard a familiar voice say my name from behind me.

I spun, and there Annabeth was, standing at the counter. She looked devastating—her blonde hair was unpinned and cascaded past her shoulder blades, lit up gold from behind by a bright shaft of sunlight that streamed in through the windows. She smiled at me, and suddenly my universe was _red lipstick, red lipstick, red lipstick_ in its entirety.

"You're…you're here," I managed.

"Yeah, I guess I am." Annabeth laughed. "I don't know, you just said you were working today so I thought I might drop by. Sorry if I'm intruding."

"No, no, you're not. I'm really glad you're here." Then, before I could think better of it, "I missed you."

Her expression softened. "I did too." She looked around. "It's really nice in here. A safe haven of sorts." Without warning, Annabeth leant over the countertop and gently took one of my hands. "Splints are off, huh? Do they still hurt?"

"Nah, you did a good job." I waggled my fingers to demonstrate.

"Yeah, well someone had to, Mr I Don't Like Hospitals. Oh, also—I brought some books for you."

I watched as she dug into her shoulder bag and produced a couple of worn paperbacks. She offered them to me, and I took them. There were three, all the same trilogy. I glanced at one on top; the title read _The Rose Society._ "These are the ones you've been trying to get me to read, right?"

Annabeth nodded. "Yeah." She tapped my chest. "I'm counting on you, 'kay? I need someone to understand my pain."

I laughed. "I won't let you down."

"When does your shift end?"

I checked my watch. It'd just turned 2:53. "In seven minutes," I told her.

"Feel like checking out early?" Annabeth gave me a conspiratorial smile, and immediately I was convinced.

After asking Henri if he could cover for me for just a few minutes until my shift ended, Annabeth and I left _Pour Les Perdus_. I had to admit, I hadn't known if I was going to see her again when we last parted, so it was a relief to be with her again.

Annabeth's bike was parked outside. I raised a brow when I saw it. "I don't know if I'd peg you as a motorcycle girl."

Annabeth shrugged, smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Maybe not, but they're more efficient than cars. Saved your sorry ass, didn't I?"

I found I couldn't argue against that. A little reverently, I ran a careful hand down the smooth brown leather of the motorbike's seat. After a moment's hesitation, I got on. I melted easily against it, my hands automatically finding their place on the handlebars, my feet knowing exactly where to rest on the footpegs. Nostalgia ripped through me, cruel and vicious as barbed wire.

Annabeth folded her arms. "You've driven one before?"

The words felt a little choking in my throat. "Yeah, I used to when I was younger."

Annabeth started to speak, but was interrupted by her phone ringing. She held up a finger and put it to her ear. "Hey, Jason." I could hear dim shouting on the other end of the line. "Crap, okay. Where's Reyna?" A clamour of voices, then Annabeth nodded, face turning stony. "Alright. Be there in five."

"What's happened—"

She slid onto her motorbike in front of me. "Hold on, and don't fucking let go." She powered up the ignition as I slipped my arms around her waist, and then we were off, hurtling into the city.

It quickly became apparent that Annabeth could be a ruthless driver when she wanted to be, and I held tight, her body warm against mine as we broke about a dozen speed limits in sixty seconds. Ear-splitting car horns and biting curses from pissed off drivers lashed at us with every corner we turned, and the wind tore at us with such a vengeance you might've thought we'd done something to it.

I whooped and threw up my hands, squeezing the seat with my knees to keep me tethered. Elation pounded through my veins. My vision was filtered through red and amber and green and all the colours in between I'd never known. I heard Annabeth laugh. I put my arms around her again, before I fell off, and in the space between that heartbeat and the next, I would've died before letting go.

Police cars were everywhere now, and swerved in and out, weaving between them. A huge building stretched along one side of the street, and as Annabeth and I screeched to a halt, I realised with a sharp inhalation that it was a bank. A handful of police officers stood to attention outside the doors, guns and batons at the ready. Annabeth pushed me against the wall, into the shadow, and we watched.

"They'll be out in a moment," she breathed. Then she turned to me, fire in her eyes and ice in the set of her jaw. "Do you know how to hotwire a car?"

I baulked. "Sorry, what?"

" _Do_ you?"

"Um, yeah. I guess." After seven years of running, I could've stolen a car in my sleep.

Annabeth had already turned away. She checked her watch. "Meet me behind the bank in four minutes, by the metal fire escape. You'll see it. And bring some wheels."

Breaking into cars was my second nature, and within less than three minutes I was parked according to Annabeth's directions, sitting in an old Mitsubishi. My restless hands drummed against the wheel, heart a wild animal in my ribcage. I wasn't even thinking, so surreal was the situation. How could I, when this was my old life restored and I felt like I was twelve years old again, bruised from my stepfather's fists and hardened by everything I could not escape?

Suddenly, the doors were slamming open. Annabeth got in shotgun and two people—male and female, swathed in black gear—scrambled into the back. "Shit, shit, shit," the boy cursed, already throwing a tattered briefcase into Annabeth's lap. He ripped off his mask to reveal short, messy blonde hair and startling blue eyes that burned with euphoria. Both he and the masked girl were splattered with dark blood and wore silver pistols at their belts.

He met my gaze and laughed aloud, grin dripping with mania and adrenaline. "Well, what the fuck are you waiting for? Drive!"

* * *

 **hey so uh it's literally 6:30 in the evening right now and I've been writing all day instead of revising for my majorly important mocks this week someone save me :) I have like two or three exams every day, send prayers everyone. Speaking of exams I don't know if there'll be an update next Sunday as I won't have time to write literally anything but you know what? I might write anyway and subsequently fail all my exams (and fuck up my sleep) but I've already accepted that extremely likely outcome to be honest**

 **Also, you can find the aesthetic board for this story on my Pinterest account _suicidal_stolen_art_ , I can't link it here but go check that out if y'all want to xx**


	7. Bruises Like Blossoms

**CHAPTER 7: BRUISES LIKE BLOSSOMS**

ANNABETH

"Through there!" I cried, pointing. Without responding, Percy yanked the wheel left, and we skidded, swerving down a tight side-street that wasn't meant for cars. Behind us, I could hear the harrowing wail of the police cars' sirens. Their ongoing pursuit was a chilling light show of blue and red, lighting up the buildings behind us. Percy's knuckles were white on the steering wheel, clenching it so tightly I worried for his newly healed hands.

"Chase, I don't know if it's a good time to ask, but who the fuck is this?" Reyna shot from behind me, voice scathing. She'd pulled off her mask and shaken her long, dark hair loose from its braid. She ran her fingers through it, teasing out the knots.

Percy's eyes remained trained on the road. He was a good driver, nimble and fast, as though this stolen car had already become an extension of himself.

"I'm Percy, thanks for asking so nicely," he muttered. I clutched the seat beneath me for stability as we cut a few glaringly crimson traffic lights.

Reyna scoffed. "Does it look like I asked _you_ , Red?"

I pierced Reyna with a harsh look. "He's a friend," I clarified. I studied the briefcase Jason had thrown into my lap. Made of worn leather and dark stitching, it was a mess of frayed edges. It looked on the brink of falling apart. Hopefully, whatever the hell was in it had been worth the close call.

Jason noticed my appraisal of his plunder. He flashed me a wolfish grin, blue eyes electric. "It ain't money in there, Beth, in case you were wondering."

Tentatively, I clicked open the briefcase. I raised the lid. Within lay a gorgeous silver necklace, dripping with diamonds and strange engravings. Immediately I slammed the briefcase shut, cutting Jason a sharp look. "What the _fuck_? This must be worth—I don't even know how much!"

Percy swore viciously as he was forced to swerve between two cars, with only a hair's breadth of leeway. "Where the hell are we even going?"

I didn't answer his question. "Just keep going straight on, Jackson."

Reyna met my eyes in the rear-view mirror. "I'm guessing Red here ain't one of ours, that right?" she asked, voice laced with venom. "You'd better hope this newbie knows what he's doing, Annabeth."

"Oh, trust me," Percy mumbled. "I'm figuring it out as I go."

We screeched through Paris' winding streets, clipping wing mirrors and running red lights until we lost the police. I knew there was a city-wide hunt going on right as we drove, gaining size with every second it remained fruitless. I imagined the impromptu robbery and our disappearance was even raising questions higher up—questions that'd certainly implicate our entire organisation.

Jason stuck his head out the window, black-gloved fingers gripping the roof's edge as he craned his neck for a better view. "I think we've lost them," he grinned, landing heavily in his seat. "Turn on the radio, Chase?" I did, flicking erratically through the stations until I heard a song I liked.

Reyna chewed on her nails as she quickly checked her phone, eyes skimming the messages she'd received. She sighed with relief, sagging slightly. "Thank God, the others made it back. They're regrouping at headquarters."

My gaze wandered over to Percy. The cruel set of his jaw held some kind of warning, but his raised shoulders spoke volumes for his fear. For a heartbeat, his eyes flickered over to mine, then darted away—as though he had not meant to be caught looking.

After a few minutes of driving around aimlessly, to make sure we'd lost any and all of our tails, Percy parked the car outside the base like I'd told him to. Breathing heavily, he rested his forehead on the steering wheel. "Fuck," he muttered.

Reyna cocked a brow, undoing her seat belt. "Ready to go home yet, new kid?" In one fluid motion, she grabbed the briefcase from where it lay in my lap and got out, slamming the car door behind her. Jason followed, leaving Percy and me alone in the car.

"Okay?" I asked, and he made a little sound that might've been confirmation. I chewed on my lip. "You sure?"

"...Yeah, uh. Yeah."

Tentative, I reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "You're fine. Just...don't freak out, okay?"

We got out of the car to find Reyna and Jason in the midst of an argument. "I don't care what you fucking think, we're handing this over to Sir," Reyna insisted. "It's protocol."

Jason threw up his hands. "What the hell is your obsession with protocol? _We_ found the suitcase, and it wasn't in mission parameters, so I don't see why that asshole deserves it any more than us!"

Deadly calm, Reyna stepped forward, getting in Jason's face. He had at least a foot on her, but she never wavered. "I am mission leader, Grace," she hissed. "Not you. So stand down, suck it up, and take two goddamn steps back."

Jason, to his credit, squashed the biting insult I could tell simmered on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he gave a mocking salute and turned on his heel, storming off in the direction of the base.

Reyna turned to Percy, sizing him up. "How much do you know?"

Percy stuttered. "I, uh—"

Reyna drew a pocket-knife from within her sleeve and, before I could blink, held it to Percy's throat. "Spit it out, babyface. How much has she told you?"

Percy's eyes narrowed. In a fraction of a second, he twisted the blade from Reyna's hand and in a flash was behind her, one hand twisting her arms together in brutal restraint, the other pressing the knife to Reyna's collarbone. He muttered something into Reyna's ear. I caught a few French words, but none I understood. Percy shoved Reyna away and dropped her knife like it was trash.

Instantly, I leapt between the pair of them, pushing him away from her. I turned to Reyna, who clutched her retrieved knife, looking murderous but also strangely impressed.

"God, Rey. He doesn't know anything important," I bit out.

Reyna glanced behind me to where Percy stood. "Leash your dog, Annabeth. He's coming inside."

Percy's hand closed around my wrist. I looked back at him. He looked like he wanted to turn and sprint, dragging me with him. "Annabeth..." he pleaded.

Wrenching my arm away, I turned back to Reyna. I nodded to her, a brisk jerk of my chin. "Go fetch Superman from wherever he stomped off to. Sir will want a briefing, given one of the others hasn't filled him in already."

Reyna gave a close-lipped smile and spun curtly on her heel. As she walked away, she called, "I'll see you at feeding! Bring Little Red, won't you? I wanna see that knife trick again!"

I unclenched my fists as Reyna disappeared into the shadows of the warehouse. I felt a gentle tap on my knuckle and turned to see Percy. He'd drawn his shoulders up, making himself smaller, and he rubbed at the scars on his hands. "This isn't safe," he murmured subconsciously, moving to step back.

I caught his flickering gaze, and tapped his own knuckle, just as he had with mine. "Everything will be fine, Percy."

"How can you say that? How—?" His voice cracked. "This is a fucking mess. I need to...I never should've—"

Frustrated, I grabbed his wrist, pulling him toward me. "Shut up. Don't you get it? Even now, there are a dozen eyes on us both. Watching, waiting for one of us to slip up." I sighed, letting go of his wrist. "You, me...We're too high-stakes. This is it, understand? This is all there is. At least for now."

Something wavered behind Percy's eyes, behind those lenses of blue silicon. I wondered why he still bothered to wear them when all he had to hide was a pair of green irises. I thought about the brand on his neck, the slashes on his wrists, the people who'd hurt him he refused to tell me about. The dyed red hair, the beautiful voice. His notebook, filled to the brim with strange poems and stranger songs.

All these things were puzzle pieces, but I had no idea what picture I was going to end up with. If it would even resemble anything like the Percy Jackson I had crafted in my own mind.

"Okay," Percy said softly. "I'll go with you. I'll—I'll stay."

Relief surged in me. "Alright. Just...ditch the contacts, will you? I don't think Sir will appreciate the dishonesty."

* * *

PERCY

As we walked in, my heart slowly clawed its way up into the base of my throat, leaving me breathless. I was searched once, twice. The second time, one of the guards snatched my cigarettes. I almost wanted to protest, but one cold glance from Annabeth had my mouth sealed.

Their base seemed endless, cruelly maze-like and dark. Voices surged louder whenever we walked by a busy room. It was almost like an army compound—dozens of training rooms took up floor after floor. Blocks of dorms were everywhere, stacked like barracks. Walking past the training rooms, the occasional _crack-crack-crack_ of gunshots shuddered through the base's walls. My heart was a rabbit in my chest, threatening to burst out of my ribcage. I dug my nails into my palms and breathed _in, out, in, out_ to try and quiet it, leaving little half-moon imprints on the pads of my hands.

Annabeth walked ahead. Her voice was hushed and rapid as she muttered into the silver burner phone pressed to her ear. I felt helpless, trapped in a warzone without hope for surrender. My hands weren't tied, but they might as well have been—an entourage of guards kept a few feet behind like I was volatile.

So what? I could be volatile if they wanted me to be.

We walked for another minute or so. I was digging at my peeling cuticles, attempting to quell my rising unease, when Annabeth stopped suddenly, running a hand through her nimbus of blonde hair agitatedly. "No, I don't fucking—yes, I know that!" She flipped the phone shut with a guttural groan of frustration and jammed it into her back pocket. She spun around to face me, a little red-faced. "I've got business to handle before you meet Sir, alright? Grace will look after you. He'll be up in a minute." She started to walk away.

"Wait!" I grabbed her arm, grasping at time. A hundred questions bubbled on my tongue.

Annabeth half-snarled, ripping it away from me. "What, Jackson?"

"What'll happen to Roxanne and Piper? No one will...No one will touch them, right?"

She didn't even blink. "They'll be under surveillance, but the eventual outcome isn't my decision. Now, if you'll excuse me—"

"Sorry, I don't understand," I snapped. I didn't get how she could look so apathetic, so cold. Anger caught in my throat, bleeding into my voice. "Do you even care about them? I thought we—"

Annabeth stepped into my space, steel eyes flashing. She cut me off, voice a hissing whisper. "I brought you here _because_ I care, Percy. But raise your voice to me one more time in front of my subordinates and I'll kill your friends myself." She stepped back, motions sharp in a display of relentless formality.

I hated her like this, when she was so far away. "Annabeth..."

"Just—don't." She turned away. "I'll see you tonight. In the meantime, keep your fucking head down."

* * *

Two guards herded me into a plain white waiting room and had me sit down. I winced at the overpowering stench of bleach and cleaning agent. "Wait here, please," one of the guards said. "Grace will be here in a minute." They left me alone to step outside, chattering to each other.

I started to bounce my knee, a nervous tick. I wished the guy—Grace—would just show up already. This waiting room they'd left me in was white and small and so, so hatefully similar to the interrogation room I'd been tortured in barely a month ago. I swallowed shakily, closing my eyes as I tried to slow my rapid breathing. But I couldn't, I couldn't, and my throat was closing and my lungs were collapsing and—

" _Did you kill her?"_

I was vaguely aware of the god-awful, groaning noise I made as I keeled over, screwing my eyes shut. I was _there_ , I was there again, and the voices were loud, louder than anything.

" _Get off your fucking knees, Percy, before he sees you like this!"_

" _Sing me a swan song, would you, little runaway?"_

" _Did you—"_

— _kill her?"_

I screwed my eyes shut, grappling for control of my breathing. I tightened a hand on the edge of the table to steady myself but suddenly there was steel cutting up my skin and fiery, crackling pain eating at the bones in my fingers and I couldn't breathe, God, why couldn't I breathe?

But then that song, _Starman,_ drifted into my head again, and I grabbed at the hope, at the glimmer of reality. _"I had to phone someone, so I picked on you,"_ I whisper-sung, hands trembling and quaking. _"Hey, that's far out, so you heard him too..."_ Slowly but surely, I began to calm down. I let go of the table's edge, knuckles trembling and white, and let out a crumpled copy of a breath.

I wasn't there anymore. I knew that. God, I knew that. I just had to keep reminding myself, was all.

Some time later, that guy—Jason—unlocked the door, expression apathetic and bored. "Alright," he said. "I'm your babysitter for today." He swept an arm out the door with a sneer, obviously gesturing for me to lead the way.

I did so, and it took a monumental effort not to ram my elbow into his gut on the way out.

We roamed the halls. Jason said nothing, apparently deciding the silent treatment was the most effective method of intimidating me. To be honest, I mostly found it kind of funny.

"So, Grace _..._ " I started, tone mocking, "why exactly were you throwing a hissy fit over that necklace earlier? Fond of jewellery, are you?"

Jason shot me a dirty look, all daggers. "Shut the fuck up, newbie."

I raised my brows, whistling. "Jesus, you're easy to rile. I guess it can't be easy having that stick up your ass all the time."

"Are you planning on being an aggravating brat this whole time?" he said, scowling, which twisted the scar on his lip into an ugly curve. "Maybe you don't know it, but you're fucking lucky that Annabeth vouched for you, or you'd be dead in a gutter right about now."

I let my mouth warp into a grin. "Really? After I oh-so-gracefully steered your asses out of danger in a stolen car? I'm sure there's such a thing as a favour for a favour in this place."

Jason let out a cold laugh. "You wouldn't know the first thing about debt, Red." He walked smoothly ahead, pushing open a set of double doors. A sign hung from the handle—REC ROOM was scrawled across it. "Annabeth said to rendezvous here. And for God's sake, be smart. Don't speak to anyone—she said I had to keep your pathetic ass out of trouble."

I followed him inside. Instantly, I was overwhelmed. We'd emerged into an open room with a huge arching ceiling filled with a bustling crowd of people. Strobe lights licked the walls, and music blared from speakers somewhere. The bitter scent of whiskey and cigar smoke tinged the air.

In the centre of the room, a stage had been set up. Two guys stood atop it, fists raised against each other. Thick blood trickled from the shorter one's nose, and he cried out as the other guy landed another punch on his jaw. Another punch, then one more, and he collapsed to his knees. I saw his lips form the words _I'm done,_ but his plea did nothing to deter the sudden blow to his temples that had him unconscious on the floor.

The other guy spun around and roared, raising his fists in victory. Dozens of recruits shouted and clapped in reply, their approval deafening.

Jason said something, but I couldn't hear him over the din. "What?" I asked, voice raised.

Jason leaned close to shout in my ear. "It's fight night. Basically, the victor of each round chooses a new opponent until one person can win for ten rounds straight, and they're then declared champion. Usually, it goes on for ages." He gestured to a blackboard sitting propped up on the stage. Rows of names were written down and crossed out, amounts of money written beside each. Jason flashed his teeth in a mocking grin. "Bet, if you want."

I looked back at the stage. The victor had chosen a tall woman with a buzz cut. She snarled, fighting wild like an animal, yet her every move was perfectly calculated. Within a few strikes, she had the previous victor bloody and bruised on the floor.

I turned back to Jason and asked if anyone ever died. He just smiled, snake-like.

We watched the rounds for a while. They were never long, always sickeningly fast and charged with brutality. After a while of observing the fighting, I could figure out who was going to win based on recurring patterns—how many hits the current victor had already taken, how calm the new challenger was.

Jason and I took to muttering our predictions to each other, laughing and betting between ourselves. Maybe the violence was a morbid thing to enjoy, but it just sort of seemed like second nature to this place. It was all _I_ knew, anyway.

Something like an hour passed. It was hard to tell as I wasn't wearing a watch—and their base was bereft of any daylight there might've been. Right now, the current victor had survived seven rounds. He was dark-haired, dark-eyed and wrapped in shadowy ink—his skin was more tattooed than not. So close to being named champion, I could tell he was working himself into a frenzy. The adrenaline probably wasn't helping either.

I jabbed Jason in the ribs to get his attention, as he was busy tapping away on his burner. His face looked ghostly pale and jagged in the harsh, luminescent light it cast up onto his jaw.

He didn't look up for a moment. "What?"

"Five euros says he loses the next round," I murmured. The tattooed victor jabbed a finger at someone in the crowd. I wondered who he'd chosen.

Jason scoffed and returned to his phone. "You're kidding, right? That guy's been up there forever and barely taken two fucking hits. Your money's mine."

I didn't reply, attention rapt on the stage. I skated an idle thumb over my lip as the crowd chattered in anticipation. Clearly, there was something different about the new challenger, but I couldn't see well enough to tell who exactly it was.

A man stepped up to the stage and cast off his black jacket, facing away from the audience. He rolled his shoulders and turned towards the audience, away from the darkness. In a heartbeat, his features were awash with purple light.

Red eyes, unblinking. Shining, gelled black hair. A harsh nose and thin, curved lips.

Cupid gave a sickly smile and raised a hand in greeting to the audience. The dozen rings adorning his fingers glinted, almost dazzling.

My breath caught in my throat. _Cupid_ worked with these people? With Annabeth? I'd never known he'd left my stepfather's business. Left his own father. Granted, the mafia was certainly connected in some ways, but this connected? When we were younger, he'd always talked about just leaving, about running away from all the crime, but I'd thought my mother and I were the only ones who actually had. Clearly, I was wrong.

The tattooed victor snarled at Cupid, balling his fists. Cupid only stood there, utterly unprovoked. The victor ran at him, hoping to catch him off-guard, but Cupid merely sidestepped and swung at the man's face. Bright blood poured from his nose, and he doubled over, groaning. Quick as a whip, Cupid jerked a knee into the man's gut and swept his legs out from beneath him.

The man landed heavily, sputtering blood. Relentless, Cupid landed kick after kick to his groin until, seemingly, he was satisfied. When the crowd thundered, roaring his praises, he didn't even turn around.

I let out a breath. I hadn't even realised I'd been holding it.

Cupid turned back to the crowd. His scrutiny slid over it, searching. It landed on me, and my heart shuddered in my chest. His eyes narrowed, and a serpentine smile crawled onto his cruel face. Unwillingly, I stepped back. _No._ He couldn't...could he?

Cupid jabbed a finger at me, calling my name across the crowd.

Instantly, pairs of rough hands landed on my shoulders, jostling. Jeering voices tore at me, and I managed one final, desperate glance back at Jason before I was pushed to the front.

I looked up at Cupid where he stood on the stage. Arms folded, he cocked his head. "Are you a little baby, Jackson? A little coward?" he sneered, speaking in sing-song. I balled my fists. _Fuck it._ I clambered up onto the stage, eyes whispering white-hot murder.

The audience screamed, sensing the animosity in the air between us. Cupid retreated to his side of the stage. I did the same.

A whistle blew somewhere, signalling the start of the fight. Cupid charged forward, viper-fast. I ducked his flying fist and kicked out at his gut, but he whirled away. I had to land the first blow, win the audience's approval.

I feinted at Cupid's face but changed direction at the last second. My elbow hit his side, winding him. Huffing a breath, Cupid met my eyes. "Just like when we were kids," he rasped, and then the fight truly started.

We exchanged blows faster than I could even comprehend them. I fell into impulse, then into instinct, ignoring any sparks of pain that would vie for my attention whenever Cupid managed to land a hit. As we danced around one another in some sort of lethal game, everything felt utterly familiar.

Hot blood and black bruises soon coated my knuckles. Though my own strength was waning, I could tell Cupid's was waning faster. His breath was turning ragged, disbelief at my competence in his wild eyes. His attempts to strike me were becoming stupider, less calculated.

Inhaling raggedly, I leant back into my hip, drawing my fist behind me. Lightning fast, I struck him in the side of the head. Cupid swayed, fists loose, and crumpled to his knees. Heavy blood dripped from his nose and onto the ground in front of him.

The crowd screamed my praise, though I was barely aware of it, I was so focused on staying standing. " _Choose! Choose! Choose!"_ they chanted, feral.

I looked down at the wreck that was Cupid's broken form and wiped the back of my hand on my bleeding, split lip. I crouched down in front of him. "Why are you here?" I asked. He didn't reply. " _Tell me."_

Cupid finally met my eyes. There was so much pain in his face, I almost pitied him. "Same as you," he murmured, voice hoarse and grating. "Just...had to get away. There's safety here, where I can...where I can be unknown."

A beat passed, then another. I scoffed and stood up, blinking away the light-headedness, and turned to the audience.

My heart stopped in my chest. Annabeth stood silent and blank-faced across the room, beside a man with curling blonde hair like her own. A black eye was blooming on Annabeth's face. _Did he do that to her?_ Rage swelled in my chest, squashing my lungs. I wanted to kill anyone that hurt her.

The man was scowling. He gestured to someone, and the music cut off. When he looked at me, his gaze was searing. I felt like a deer in the headlights, but I set my jaw. I could take it—whatever was going to happen.

Annabeth caught my gaze. She shook her head, subtly, mouthing the word _No._ I wished to God I could tell what she was trying to convey.

Two bulky men in crisp, perfect black suits strode up to the stage. They grabbed my arms, jostling me. I complied with them, allowing them to drag me through the crowd.

Annabeth's voice echoed through my head, a memory of something she'd said earlier: _Keep your fucking head down._

And even though it went against every goddamn instinct in my body, I did.

* * *

 **Hey guys, I'm really sorry for disappearing. I know it's been a while (to say the least). My life has just been kind of weird recently, and there wasn't really space anywhere for writing. But as the summer holidays started last week, I tried super hard to bang this one out for you guys. It'll get crazy from here on out so buckle in, get ready for the next update and enjoy your summer :)**

 **Also, r** **emember to check out this story's Pinterest board at my account _suicidal_stolen_art_! It's basically a visual experience, aesthetic kinda thing. Also if you haven't already, go read _herecomesthepun_ 's new fic, it's fucking amazing y'all**


	8. If I Should Die Before I Wake

**CHAPTER 8: IF I SHOULD DIE BEFORE I WAKE**

 **ANNABETH**

I stood there, silent, even as the roaring in my ears seemed never-ending. My cheek still burned where Sir had slapped it and my eye was so swollen and bloodshot that the left side of my vision was tinged with a crimson hue.

I watched Percy and Cupid dance around one another like old enemies, trading blows, and I watched Percy's final, felling punch that had Cupid on his knees. I was so angry I wanted to kill him. I'd _told_ him, I'd _told_ Percy that laying low would be his only hope, but of course, he couldn't have adhered to even that instruction.

The fight ended. The crowd cheered. I stared daggers at Percy through my mismatched eyes, one blackened and one healthy. I was angry because to not be angry would mean to be helpless, and helplessness was death in this place.

Percy turned to face me, fists crimson, and I watched his jaw slacken and his fighting stance uncurl. Beside me, I heard Sir scoff, biting out an order to one of his subordinates. As they dragged Percy through the crowd, I kept expecting him to fight back, to escape from the guards' clutches like I knew he could.

But he didn't. When he passed me, I saw him raise his fingertips to his lips. Like a code, like a signal. Like a whisper of an apology.

* * *

They took him to an interrogation room and sat him down. I saw something splinter in his eyes when he saw the chair, but I knew they wouldn't dare hurt him. Not with me breathing down their necks, promising something worse than Sir's wrath. Percy satisfied their questioning easily, answers ambiguous but clean in their delivery.

"How much information has Miss Chase divulged to you regarding this organisation?" This was what felt like the hundredth question.

Percy's gaze had been fixed past the guard, drifting, but at the question, it flicked back to his interrogators. "Oh—uh. Nothing, I guess. Just the location of this place."

He scrawled a stub of a pencil across crisp paper. Percy's knuckles were white on the tabletop.

"And have you, yourself, divulged any information regarding this organisation?"

"No. No, I haven't."

"You have two roommates that are currently under surveillance, that you claim have met Miss Chase but know nothing further about her associations."

Percy swallowed, causing his Adam's apple to bob. "That's right," he said.

The interrogator nodded, then tucked his notepad into a folder. He turned to me. "Due to your status, this lapse of judgement on your part will be overlooked, but you understand it has created a huge security risk. Therefore, Mr. Jackson will not be leaving this compound any time in the foreseeable future without some kind of agreement being formed."

I nodded curtly. "Thank you."

He stood up tucking in his chair. "Then this questioning is suspended for the time being. Commander Chase will arrive in a moment—I'm afraid he had some urgent business to take care of. The final decision of Mr. Jackson's fate will be determined, of course, by him."

"Yes, I understand."

With that, he left. Percy and I watched the door swing shut behind him. Immediately, we each dropped our facades.

Percy exhaled a ragged sigh of relief and let go of the countertop. "Thank God, I thought...I thought..." He groaned. "Fuck. Fuck."

I willed my hands to stop shaking and sat down opposite him. Dredging a half-smile up from somewhere in the bleakness, I hesitantly reached for his hand. "You're okay. Everything will be okay. I promise."

He nodded, enclosing my hand within his. Under his scarred knuckles and crooked, callused fingers my hand looked pale, fragile. Untouched. His touch was unfailingly warm, charged with comfort. Out of nowhere, I felt the urge to melt into his arms and lay my ear against his chest, just to feel his heartbeat.

Percy fidgeted with my hand, tracing its creamy lines with his fingertips. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but unquestionably certain. "I'm glad you came back to me. When you first left, you just seemed so far away." He met my gaze and reached up, fingers tremoring as they hovered over the harsh, budding bruise around my eye. Something came undone behind Percy's expression. "Does he do that a lot?" he asked, tone frigid.

I didn't reply, which was an answer in itself. Percy moved his fingers away. I'd never admit it, but he was so beautiful behind the rage—all scarred bronze skin and dark roots beneath red hair. Even the scars from the interrogation I'd saved him from somehow held grace, instead of horror—they didn't spite his looks, even added to them. Quiet anger flooded his glassy, bottle green eyes—they searched my face, looking for something.

My own gaze fell to his full, soft lips. I stopped breathing, a little bit.

We were quiet for a few seconds before I shattered the silence. "Okay...okay. When Sir arrives, you need to stay calm, yeah? Don't disagree with him. He hates that."

Percy opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. "Annabeth?"

"...Yeah?"

"You know you don't have to be afraid of him, right? You don't."

I pursed my lips. "Percy—"

"I'm _serious_ —"

I got out of the chair, refusing to wince as it screeched against the floor. "I know, alright?! I know. But right now, all I give a shit about is keeping your head on your fucking shoulders and in a minute, we'll find out if that's actually fucking possible." I exhaled, straightening my jacket. "I just...I..."

Percy looked as if he were going to say something, but the door opened.

I shrank back, falling to attention.

Sir walked in, checking his watch. His hair, blond and curly in the same way as mine, was viciously slicked back and groomed to utter perfection. "Apologies. It looks like I'm late." He leered at me, appraisal grating as it slid down my form. He gestured to one of the chairs. "Annabeth, darling. Would you like to take a seat?" It wasn't a question, so I did. He followed suit.

Percy glared at him. I wished he wouldn't. I really, really wished he wouldn't.

"Percy Jackson," Sir began. "We're going to make this quick, as I'm sure you don't have all day." He flashed a cruel smile, folding his hands together on the table in front of him. "You're Sally Jackson's son, Gabriel Ugliano's stepson—and you've been M.I.A. for quite a while, now, haven't you?"

Percy narrowed his eyes. "I suppose you could say that," he said, voice ice-cold.

My uncle laughed. "Good to know you've kept some fire." His tone was brutal, cutting. "Can't have been easy to, can it? All that time running with only your mother for company, and you _still_ lost her. To suicide, no less."

Something flickered behind Percy's eyes. I watched him press his lips together, no doubt trying to remain calm, just as I'd told him. "So what?" Percy ground out, halting.

Sir flapped a hand in dismissal. "Well, we don't have to talk about that—it's ancient history, I'd say. However, I am rather interested in the little show you put on earlier. You defeated one of my favourite recruits, Jackson." He paused to examine a nail. "Quite the feat, wouldn't you agree?

Percy nodded slowly.

Sir was already continuing. "Of course, I'm aware you have other skills." He smiled, ugly, and reached out to drag a curious nail down the scars on Percy's face. "I think we can both agree any ultimatum reached between us might be mutually beneficial, hmm? You could join my ranks, become one of my subordinates. Even work alongside my darling niece." Sir rested his hand on my wrist. I forced apathy into my features, daring myself not to flinch away.

When Percy spoke, it was around clenched teeth. "I fought so fucking hard to walk away from that life. I—I don't want to fall into it again."

Sir spread his hands. "I'd imagine not. However, I believe I can offer some rationale."

"Like what?"

He smirked, serpentine. "Piper McLean is currently being brought here under restraint along with her simply _beautiful_ girlfriend, Roxanne. If you refuse to comply, I'll order both their deaths."

Percy exhaled. "What else, then?"

"Power, of course. An opportunity to ascend the ranks of one of the greatest organisations in the world."

Percy glanced at me. I saw his hands shake, saw him fight to breathe. I'd have given anything to know what was on his mind at that moment. "Do I...do I really have a choice in the matter?"

Sir stood up, fixing his lapel. He ran a scarred hand over his gel-slick hair, smoothing any misbehaving curls. He checked his watch once again. "Unless you'd prefer to be treated as a _true_ prisoner, I wouldn't say so, no." He left, and the door slammed shut behind him.

I groaned, dropping my head. "God. God, this is so fucking screwed up."

I glanced up to see Percy nod mutely. "Yeah," he conceded.

"You're trapped, now. You're never gonna get out. You're never...and it's _my fault_ — _"_ I choked on the words, a broken sob squeezing out from somewhere in my throat.

The next instant, Percy was there, arms bracketing my shoulders. I pressed my forehead into his warm chest, trying to hide the tears threatening to slide down my cheeks. "It's okay," he murmured, lips against my hair as he spoke.

"You don't understand," I whispered. "I never meant...I never meant for..."

He shushed me, breathy, rasping. "No. This was always bound to happen. I knew it would, eventually." His voice cracked a little bit.

A hoarse, unwelcome laugh tumbled from my mouth. Nothing was funny, but everything was. "Guess you're stuck with me, Jackson. No running now."

Percy's eyes flickered, ocean-green and otherworldly. When he closed them, I was left mourning their loss. "I won't if you won't."

A strangled laugh. "I won't," I croaked, pulling him close to me. I breathed him in. He smelled like cologne and sea salt, and I wished we never had to break apart.

* * *

PERCY

Annabeth and I walked the corridors, on our way to find the others, fingers loosely intertwined. I focused on her touch, calling it an anchor to ground me. Nothing else. If I thought too much about all the overwhelming insanity corrupting my life, I was afraid the hurricane in my head would make me insane too. I stole a glance at Annabeth, at her steel eyes and soft cheekbones. The only constant, the only calm in my life, it sometimes felt like she was the eye of that storm in my mind.

We arrived at one of the base's complexes, hands falling away from the other's as we walked in. Dozens of bean bags, tables and chairs were gathered in little congregations everywhere, many of which were occupied by recruits playing cards, organising plans, or even just resting.

I followed Annabeth to one side of the room. Jason was sitting there, clad in dark uniform that would've appeared almost military if I didn't know better. He was deep in frantic, hushed conversation with a girl in a leather jacket with black hair shorn close to the scalp. I watched as he ran an agitated hand through his blonde half-fringe while she spoke rapidly, gestures punctuating her words.

Annabeth picked up the pace. "Thalia!" she called, face alight in a smile. I hurried after her as she embraced the girl, catching up to her side. "You still haven't been called back to America?"

Thalia shook her head. "Nope. I'm finishing my treatments here before the surgery."

"Are the doctors optimistic?"

"They say it's probably 50/50 at this point." Thalia turned to me, electric blue eyes all of a sudden tearing into my own. "Who's this?" she asked. "I'm Thalia, Jason's brother."

Making a mental note to ask Annabeth about the whole treatment thing, I shook her hand. "Percy."

"He's a new recruit," Annabeth added.

Jason eyed me, head tilted up. "So, Jackson. You survived?"

I laughed, sitting down beside Annabeth on an accompanying beanbag. "Just about."

"How's the lip?" Jason asked, gesturing to my face.

I reached up, wincing when my fingers brushed it and came away reddened. I'd completely forgotten about me and Cupid's little scuffle. "Sore. It'll probably need stitches."

"What happened?" Thalia asked.

"Cupid decided to try and murder him on fight night. The creepy sucker lost." He nodded to me, admiration on his face. "Props for that, by the way, but it was fucking idiotic. You should've ducked out on the first punch."

"Why? I won. Everything panned out."

Jason laughed dryly. " _Why_? You've pissed him off, Jackson. For that humiliation, he's gonna kill you. Everyone knows it." He propped his legs up on the little coffee table in front of him. "Just watch—you'll be in the death pool like me by midnight."

I blanched. "What's that?"

Annabeth flashed Jason a berating look. "Do you have to try and freak him out like that?" She sighed heavily. "Don't worry, Percy. It's just this dumb betting system we have here where you can bet on recruits you think will die. It's sort of like the fight night bets, just long-term. For example, Jason's got fifteen thousand riding on his name right now."

"Fuck. How come?"

"I'm a natural instigator." Jason's sloping grin was obviously meant to be boastful, but missed the mark. I realised it had him rattled that so many people wanted him dead.

Thalia kicked him. "No, you're just fucking annoying."

They brawled like little kids while Annabeth and I shared a look. They acted so much like family that it was impossible to forget they were brother and sister even though they looked so different.

We talked with the Grace siblings for a while longer before Jason received a call from another recruit about something they had to plan. Thalia followed, throwing us a casual salute as she left. "See ya, Red," she yelled over her shoulder.

I groaned at the nickname. "I swear to God, if one more person calls me that, I will either shave my head or dye my hair," I muttered.

Annabeth was looking at me strangely. "You should."

I laughed. "Shave my head? Are you crazy?"

Annabeth rolled her eyes, nudging me with her knee. "No, you idiot. Dye it. I think I'd like you with natural hair." She tugged on a strand. "Black would go better with your eyes, anyway."

I ran a hand through my hair, self-conscious. "I don't know. I'm sort of used to it like this."

"Yeah, but..." Annabeth exhaled. "You always dyed it to hide your appearance, right? While you were running. Now, you know...you don't have to hide anymore." Annabeth looked away. "Never mind, it was stupid—"

"No, it's not." I smiled slightly. "I think I might."

Annabeth took my hand, unbearably gentle, and started tapping out a heartbeat rhythm on my palm. "At least people won't keep calling you Red," she reasoned, laughing. "Hey, did you finish that book I said you should read? By Isabel Allende?"

I hadn't, but I nodded and smiled at all the right moments, content to just sit and listen to her talk about something she loved. She was so fucking beautiful, I didn't even _want_ to breathe. If I ever painted, I'd only use her colour palette—burnished gold and dusty pink and grey so intense it froze and burned at the same time.

Just then, something occurred to me that I'd forgotten for a minute. "Hey, what was all that about Thalia's treatments?" I asked, interrupting something Annabeth was saying.

Annabeth's smile faded. "Oh...you heard that."

"You don't need to say, it's fine—

"No, I should." Annabeth looked down at where our hands were touching. "Well, Thalia's been ill for a pretty long time—since she and Jason were kids. Osteosarcoma."

I breathed an _oh,_ so quiet you might not have heard.

Annabeth continued, fidgeting with our hands. "Anyway, they used to be pretty poor. They had an alcoholic mom who couldn't really work, so Jason had to look elsewhere to pay for Thalia's treatments. I met them back then, when he was desperate, and scored him a meeting with Sir." She shrugged. "He pays for everything in exchange for their service, so they'll work for him until they can pay off the medical debt."

I swore. "How much is it?"

Annabeth shook her head. "Too much. Be nice to Jason, yeah? What with all this death pool stuff on top of Thalia not getting better, I'm worried he's gonna fly off the rails."

The diamond necklace that'd caused that crazy argument between Jason and Reyna made so much more sense now; Jason had probably intended to pawn it, use the money to pay off his and Thalia's debt, but Reyna had taken away that chance at freedom. I remembered Jason's manic grins and boundless energy when I'd first met him during the getaway, the way he'd seemed so ruthless and stormed off from Reyna without a second thought.

Annabeth was afraid he'd start going crazy, but...in some ways, it looked like he already had.

* * *

As Annabeth walked me to my new room, I could tell she was starting to ease back into her _other_ persona—the distant one, the one that was so far away. Her voice turned colder, her touches few and far between. When we finally arrived outside my room, I snapped. "Annabeth, you said you wouldn't fucking _do_ this."

She recoiled. "Do what?"

"Start acting like this again! Like I'm just some—some acquaintance."

Annabeth folded her arms, eyes blank. "I'll see you at feeding," she said, oh-so-careful, and turned to walk away.

"Wait!" I grabbed her arm, spinning her to face me. "Annabeth, please. I don't mind, as long as you...as long as you come back, yeah?"

Annabeth's expression softened. She nodded, hesitant, then left.

I sighed heavily, and turned to the door to my room. I knocked once, twice—Annabeth had mentioned I'd have a roommate and I didn't want to just barge in on them. I waited for a while before an accented female voice yelled _"Quelle?"_

"Hey, it's your new roommate," I called, also in French.

I heard a groan, then a scuffle, then a young woman about my age came to the door. She had crimson, corkscrew-curling hair that was piled up in a bun atop her head, and lime green eyes that were a shock of colour against her pink, freckled skin. Gold paint was smeared on her face and her white t-shirt and a paintbrush dangled from one of her hands.

Frowning, she crossed her arms, looking monumentally displeased. "No one told me about any new roommate," she replied, in English this time. "Especially not an American one." She smiled coldly. "So…how you Americans say it…? Fuck off."

She tried to close the door in my face, but I stuck my foot in the gap before she could. "Come on!" I protested. "I swear I'm not lying. I'll even forget you were so rude to me if you just open the goddamn door."

The girl huffed, but after a few seconds did so. " _Putain d'enfer._ Fine. Don't knock anything. There's a spare mattress on the floor."

I thanked her, closing the door behind me. Her room was a mess—unfinished paintings were propped up against any spare inch of wall, and stacks of colourful palettes and paintbrushes littered the floor. "So, what's your name?" I asked.

The girl crouched down at an easel and glanced over her shoulder at me. "Rachel. You?"

"Percy," I replied.

Rachel dipped her paintbrush back into some gold paint and continued to work on her composition. It was beautifully abstract, a hundred different shades of gold. I watched as she used careful, delicate strokes to create the effect she was after, adding to the hazy rendition of the boy that I could see was beginning to emerge from the painting. I was so mesmerised I almost didn't hear her when she spoke. "I saw your fight, you know."

"Did you?"

She nodded. "Yes. You fight like, ah…a dancer. Beautiful, terrible." She scoffed. "Didn't think you'd win."

I half-smiled, not knowing what to make of this girl, with her clumsy English and strange art. I sat down against the wall and tucked my legs into my chest, resting my chin on my knees. "Why not?" I asked.

Rachel picked up a fine paintbrush and dipped it in oil-black gold, the darkest shade on her painting. She flicked her wrist deftly, surely, adding faint lashes to the boy's eyes. She shrugged, tongue slipping between her lips in concentration. "Not sure. Cupid is harsh, hateful. You're..." She trailed off, searching for the words, then finished the sentence in French. " _Tu n'es pas. Vous vous déplacez comme un papillon._ "

It never ceased to amaze me how much more eloquent people were in their native language. Laughing, I leaned back against the wall. "I move like a butterfly?"

Rachel tilted her head, then nodded. "Mm." She returned to her painting, but not before slotting a cigarette between her lips and lighting it with one of the candles by her easel.

She exhaled a plume of smoke and passed me one. I hadn't realised how much I'd been itching for the nicotine until the smoke was curling down my throat, a caress and a bite at the same time. " _Merci_."

We sat there in comfortable silence for a while, Rachel finishing her painting and me my cigarette. I glanced up at the clock on the wall, at the silver hands displaying the time: half past one in the morning. Eventually, my new roommate slipped into bed, and I did too, using my jacket as a pillow and a spare sheet as a blanket.

As I drifted off to sleep, I heard Rachel whisper a quiet prayer, voice soft in the darkness. " _Maintenant je m'allonge pour dormir, je prie le Seigneur de garder mon âme, si je mourrai avant de me réveiller, je prie le Seigneur de prendre mon âme..."_

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Btw please drop some song recommendations in the reviews—I need some new material for my writing playlist lmao. also I live and breathe your feedback so don't be afraid to burn me lovelies aha**

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	9. Eyes Blue And Hollow

**CHAPTER 9: EYES BLUE AND HOLLOW**

ANNABETH

I didn't sleep that night—only tossed and turned, the archetype of an insomniac. It was so cold I had to lie under several blankets, arms wrapped tight around myself, knees tucked into my chest. Jason had never come back to the dorm, leaving me to wonder what was so urgent that he had to attend to it at three in the morning. Of course, I'd heard whispers of an upcoming covert mission under Jason's command. I expected it was likely some kind of political coup or assassination, as those were usually within his sphere of control.

Eventually, I gave up on trying to snatch some semblance of rest and switched on my bedside lamp, grabbing one of the paperbacks stacked there— _Circe_ by Madeline Miller. I picked up from where I'd left off and tried to submerge myself in the strange and beautiful world for a few minutes before giving up and closing the book. Before I even knew what I was doing, I'd clambered out of bed and started getting dressed, sifting my fingers through my mess of blonde hair to tame it. As I laced up my boots and nimbly strapped a gun to my belt, my thoughts wandered to Percy. Without meaning to, I'd pulled the red-haired boy from the bar into my perilous orbit and now he was stuck here, bound by promise to my uncle's cause. God, I knew I had to get him out. I just didn't know how.

Still, there was something about Sir's treatment of Percy that didn't quite sit well with me. I knew that Percy had likely been involved in some sort of organised crime before I'd even met him—not least because of the time I'd had to save him from torture by the people he'd been fleeing from all that time—but why did that make him interesting to Sir? My uncle did nothing by chance, only by careful calculation, so I expected he knew Percy could be useful to him and intended to exploit his service to its fullest extent. Even if Percy got hurt in the process.

I strolled through the hallways with no destination, hands buried deep in my pockets. I did this, sometimes—to keep my body busy when my mind was too wired for sleep. This time, though, my feet seemed to know where they were going, and I was only dimly surprised when I ended up outside Percy's dorm. Closing my eyes, I rapped on the door. Then again.

Percy opened it, red hair mussed and eyes bleary. He'd been sleeping shirtless, his torso a mess of muscular bronze skin and serrated scars, the largest of which curled all the way from his right collarbone to his left hip—a ripple of white, mutilated tissue. When my gaze fell on his cross-hatched forearms, I quickly skated my eyes back up to his face. "Do you want to..." I trailed off, gesturing over my shoulder.

Percy half-nodded, rubbing at the sleep in his eyes with the heel of his palm and turned back inside. "Just a minute."

Once he re-emerged, fully dressed, we started off at a stroll, a pace apart. Neither of us spoke for a while, lost in a haze of thought. Finally, Percy asked, "Where are we going?"

"The roof," I answered.

He didn't question that, just kept staring at the floor, scuffing his boots as he walked like a little kid.

It took us maybe twenty minutes to make it to the elevator, the hallways were so labyrinthine. As we ascended, Percy nudged me. "Is this allowed?" he asked.

"Yeah, of course. As long as no one finds out," I replied, smirking.

Percy snorted. "Oh, of course. Lead the way."

Finally, we reached the top floor of the compound, the old elevator creaking as it ground to a halt. Percy stepped out first, and immediately his jaw went slack. "Oh..."

We'd emerged onto the compound's roof, right on top of the huge, arching warehouse. The elevator opened onto a wide expanse of concrete, where we now stood. Around us, Paris was a haze of flickering lights and dark, towering buildings etched against the faded stars. We were so goddamn high up, it felt like I could see the entire city from this unlikely vantage point.

Few recruits knew about this place as the base had to remain as secure as possible. Still, I loved coming up here when I couldn't sleep, just to breathe some fresh air and occupy a space that wasn't filled by hundreds of other people.

Percy jogged to the edge of the roof, an elastic grin on his face. He leant over, whooping, his elation echoing out into the city around us.

I just watched him, hands in my pockets, a half-smile on my own lips.

We stayed up there for ages, talking and laughing and simply enjoying each other's company. At some point, we lay down together on the cold concrete to watch the stars, and if our fingers did end up loosely intertwined, who cared? No one was watching us. Not now.

My thoughts were loud in my head—so loud, I was worried that he might hear them. I closed my eyes, then spoke. "Percy."

His reply was soft. "Yeah?"

"You know...you know that if..." I exhaled. "If you wanted to leave, I'd help you. I'd help you get out." I opened my eyes again and turned my head to look at him. He was still gazing up at the stars, an array of inexplicable emotion in his features, in the tight line of his mouth. Ghostly moonlight caressed his face, bleaching his dark lashes to white and casting deep shadow into the contours of his cheekbones. His eyes were colourless but not cold. Never cold.

In that moment, I desperately wanted to reach out and touch his scarred cheek, his soft lips. I didn't.

"No," Percy whispered. "No, I wouldn't want to leave without you."

I shook my head, suppressing a smile. "Fucking idiot."

He smirked and propped himself up on an elbow to look down at me. "What? Trying to get rid of me already, Chase?"

I reached up, all hesitance, and ran my fingertips across the plane of his jaw. "Never," I murmured, more to myself than to him. Percy's breathing stuttered slightly, and he shut his eyes, turning his head into my touch. As he did, my gaze snagged on the dark, brand-like tattoo behind his ear. _SPQR._ I brushed my thumb against it, then let my hand fall away. It got me thinking about his past again, about all the things I didn't know about him. "Would you tell me about why you were always running? If I asked?"

Percy rolled his eyes and flopped back down, facing me. He played with my fingers, holding them to his chest. "I guess there's not much point keeping anything more from you, is there?"

I nestled my head on his chest. Up above, the stars were like pinpricks of light peeking through the ceiling of a cardboard box, like God had poked holes in the sky to let air in so we could breathe.

Beneath my head, Percy's chest rose and fell. "Seven years," he started, "is, uh, how long it's been. Me and my mom—Sally, she was called—used to live somewhere like this." His voice had gone all quiet.

I squeezed his hand. "Go on."

"Anyway, it was pretty rough. My stepfather wasn't the best person. He was...violent, you know? It didn't help that he was one of the ones in charge of _SPQR_ , so my mom and I were super tied up in that."

The situation he'd been in sounded painfully familiar to mine. I swallowed. "Still, you got away. Right?"

He nodded. "Yeah. After weeks of planning, Mom and I managed to flee to England, his people hot on our tails. Every couple of years, we'd move to another country, trying to throw my stepdad off the scent."

"He never stopped hunting for you and your mom?"

"No. There were so many close calls, just like the one a few weeks ago. I've got you to thank for my life, Annabeth. I'd have been dead that day if it weren't for you."

I squeezed his hand again; I didn't know what else there was to be said. "Your mom died, didn't she?"

Percy didn't say anything, which revealed enough. Somewhere in the distance, a helicopter flew over, its blades whirring. We both listened to the sound until it faded away, content with each other's presence.

I sat up, crossing my legs. It was darker now. A thick blanket of clouds had covered the moon and her accompaniment of stars, and I could hardly see Percy's face. "Your stepdad," I started, voice tentative. "He hurt you? And...and your mom?"

Again, Percy said nothing. He moved his head into my lap, like he was tired. I gently carded my fingers through his soft, dyed hair. Just when I thought he'd chosen to stay silent, he spoke. "Yeah. That was, um, one of the reasons I..." He lifted his forearm, a gesture in itself, and suddenly the air was heavy with all the things he'd left unsaid.

Far above us, the moon came out again, casting pale light on his face. I murmured, "I'm glad you got away." Before I could think better of it, I bent down, carefully pressing my lips to his forehead. His skin was soft and oh-so-warm, unlike my freezing hands.

Percy exhaled roughly. "Why'd you do that?"

I stood up, pulling him with me. "Because I wanted to."

He was so close to me, his fingers still linked with mine. His expression was beautifully unguarded, and for one brief, stupid moment I wanted to kiss him again—on the lips this time. But, a heartbeat later, the moment slipped between my fingers, and he let go of me. Gone, just like that.

With a small smile, he turned away. "You'll be the death of me, Chase."

* * *

We headed back downstairs, footsteps smooth and silent. It was almost six in the morning; we'd been up there for three hours, though it hadn't felt half as long as that. As usual, the base was beginning to wake up—recruits milled around, bleary-eyed, readying themselves to begin the day. Luckily, no one noticed that Percy and I had been gone.

My cell buzzed in my pocket. I slipped it out to find a new text from Reyna blinking up from the screen. _Get to Hold 8 fast,_ it read. _Bring Jackson._

 _On our way_ , I replied. Percy didn't question me when I started off at a fast pace, gesturing for him to follow. I checked my phone every few seconds, wondering what was so important. As we walked, I wrangled my hair into a messy Dutch braid, needing it out of my face.

We took the stairs to the sublevels, hurrying down step after step. The iron railing beside us was cool to the touch. As we approached the hold that Reyna had specified, I pulled out my key card, scanning it. With a curt _beep_ , the door swung open. Inside the room, Reyna was talking in an undertone to a younger subordinate while Jason restrained two familiar prisoners to the table. Piper and Roxanne—Percy's friends.

Roxanne was quiet, staring down at her cuffs, clearly having decided it was safer to stay silent. Piper, meanwhile, was fighting back, snarling at Jason as he restrained her. _"Laisse-moi partir, fils de pute!"_ she spat, kicking at him, nearly sending her chair careening over.

Jason grabbed her wrists, locking them behind the chair. He hissed something in her ear furiously, then let go of her. Piper stopping fighting but looked no less angry.

Reyna glanced up at Percy and me, who'd just entered. She nodded in greeting, then dismissed the subordinate. "Thank you. You may leave."

Beside me, Percy stepped forward, his scarred hands balled into fists. "What the fuck? Let them go!"

I grabbed his wrist, holding him back. "Don't," I shot at him. "Reyna, take those cuffs off them. They're not going to try and run." I locked eyes with Roxanne. "Right?"

She met my gaze, hating me quietly. "Right," she said. Though the word conveyed agreement, it sounded blatantly like a curse.

Percy shrugged out of my grasp and turned to Reyna. "Lieutenant," he bit out. "Care to explain?"

Reyna straightened her posture, folding her arms. With a scoff, she said, "Please, don't act like this is personal. I received an order to neutralise these two liabilities. Whether they remain captive is based both on their further assessment and how far you yourself are willing to comply."

I clenched my jaw. "Reyna, I'm aware you were following orders. But—"

Percy interrupted me. "By bringing them here, you've signed their prison sentences. Now that they know this place exists, you people will never let them leave!"

Reyna's expression didn't shift. "I was following orders, Jackson." She sighed, shoulders sinking slightly. "It has been arranged that they will remain at the compound for the time being. They will have to remain restrained during questioning and for their initial assessment, but as background checks show neither of them have had any combat training, they may be allowed free roam of the leisure centres." Reyna adjusted the gun hanging on her belt. "Perhaps they can make themselves useful." Turning to leave, she flashed a cruel smile at Percy over her shoulder. "I'll send a few subordinates to transport the captives to an interrogation room. Until then, you're welcome to reconcile. Have a group hug, maybe?"

She left, leaving the rest of us alone in a room choked by tension. Percy quickly ran to Piper and Roxanne. "Are you alright?"

Piper kicked at him. "Back off, Jackson. I don't know who the fuck you are anymore, but you're definitely not who I thought you were."

"Piper, I can explain. I swear I don't want this either—"

Roxanne interrupted, distrust heavy in her voice. "Save it." Percy looked pained, but he moved away from them, back to my side.

Jason rolled his eyes. "Well, I think that's my fucking cue to leave." He nodded at Percy and me. "See you at feeding, Chase. Red." The door banged shut behind him.

Percy spared one last glance at his friends, then took my wrist. "Let's go."

We did.

* * *

The firing range was huge, crammed with recruits, and constantly echoed with the shuddering ricochet of bullets. Sensory overload wasn't so much a possibility in there than a certainty, but I found that sometimes I could lose myself in the constant noise. I had fewer duties today than usual, so I wasted a few hours after noon emptying clip after clip of bullets. At the best of times, my aim was excellent, but at the worst, it was exceedingly poor—when I was tired and anxious, my flitting hands and unquiet mind didn't lend themselves to accuracy.

Today, though, I hit the targets more often than I missed. Unsurprisingly, the dummy fifty metres ahead of me was now a sad mess of hanging fabric and cotton wool. The crudely drawn target on its face was now barely visible, peppered with bullet holes.

I became so absorbed in the grind that I almost missed the soft tap on my shoulder. I glanced behind me, lowering my gun. Percy was standing there, a pair of soundproof headphones on his head. A rifle hung from his hand. He smiled at me, mouthing, _may I?_ He pointed at the booth I was standing at. A little stunned, I moved back so he could have a turn—all the rest of the booths were taken.

He rested his rifle on the stand. Before I could even process he'd flicked off the safety, he fired off a round of bullets, each one of them landing square in the centre of the dummy's forehead. Then again, and again. It was terrifying.

Objectively, I supposed I should've figured that Percy could shoot. He'd been brought up in a family of high crime—like me, he'd probably been taught how to handle a gun before he even learned to walk straight. But seeing him work the gun like it was his third arm forced me to see Percy in a totally new light. Somehow, I'd still been seeing him as that innocent boy in the bar performing French songs and playing piano flawlessly.

Percy looked back and grinned at me, blowing a strand of crimson hair out of his eyes. His face was alight with something like excitement. He laughed, then turned back to the gun, nimble fingers working its intricacies like he'd been born to shoot.

God, I was so fucked.

We stayed at the shooting range for a while, taking turns and exchanging techniques. Warmth bloomed in my chest, a feeling of contentedness—it was easy to forget where we were. Who we were. Still, I didn't mind. Any flicker of safety, however false, was nice to indulge in.

Afterwards, we headed to feeding together. Evening had already arrived and I had to say, it was weird how fast the day had flickered by. I wondered what had happened during Roxanne and Piper's interview—no doubt Percy's mind lingered on them too. I hated to leave his friends in the hands of Reyna's interrogators, but it wasn't my place to confront her. Sir had decided to take them into custody so I had no choice but to go along with it.

The mess hall was packed; at this hour, everyone was starving. It wasn't an obligation to eat in the hall, but most people did—if only because there was comfortable seating and sometimes even live music. Maybe that kind of normality wouldn't be expected in a place like this, but there was only so much we could take being cut off from the outside—save from missions and covert operations. Maybe the music was a pretence, but it was a welcome one.

I heard someone call my name and turned to see one of Jason's subordinates, Lou Ellen, waving me over. "Annabeth!" Lou and the rest of her team were gathered around a table, helping Jason with a stack of documents. Messy plans and half-finished plates of pizza spanned the surface between them.

I headed over, pulling up a couple of extra chairs for Percy and myself. Lou pushed some pizza towards us, smiling. Her dark, frizzy hair was pulled back, setting off her bright green eyes. "Chase, it's been a while!" Propping up her chin on her knuckles, she nodded to Percy. "Jackson, right?" she asked. "I heard about your fight, by the way. Kudos for taking Cupid down a notch."

"Yeah, whatever. He deserved it." Percy eagerly grabbed some pizza, taking a generous bite. "God, I'm fucking starving," he slurred through a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese. "Your name?"

"Lou Ellen," she replied. "I'm on Jason's unit right now. I've been here for a six, seven months, maybe? Transferred from New York like most of us here."

"Oh, yeah. You definitely don't sound French," Percy snorted. _"Connaissez-vous la langue?"_

"Fuck off. I don't speak that jargon."

He laughed. "Better pick it up quick. You never know who's talking behind your back."

Percy and Lou fell into easy conversation while they ate. I was thankful he didn't clash with everyone here—allies were important, while enemies would earn you nothing but a healthy sum beside your name on the death pool blackboard.

Jason could certainly attest to that.

The guy in question hadn't looked up once since we'd sat down, so consumed was he by his planning. I knew it was something to do with the covert mission under his control I'd recently been hearing whispers of, but I hadn't got around to needling him for information yet. Frankly, the suspense was killing me.

I got up from the table, excusing myself from Percy and Lou's company, and headed around the table to where Jason sat. Placing a hand on his shoulder, I sat down next to him. "Hey. What's all this?"

He scowled, glancing up at me. The scar on his lip twisted out of shape. "God, just keep your nose out of this, Beth," he muttered. "Everything's enough of a mess as it is."

I smiled cheerily, relentless. "I'm your superior, Grace. There's nowhere my nose doesn't belong."

He groaned, shifting away from me. "Trust me on this, yeah? You don't wanna get involved."

I raised a brow. "I'll decide that for myself."

A moment of silence, and Jason broke. He groaned, shoving a stack of documents toward me. "Look at these. Tell me what you see."

I shuffled through the papers. I could hardly figure out what any of it meant—almost every line was blacked out. "How can you tell what these documents even are? All the information's classified."

Jason scoffed. "Exactly. They've given me an operation to lead and carry out, but won't fucking tell me anything. I know next to nothing about the guy! How do they expect me to—"

Realising he was getting himself wound up, I interrupted. "Jason, keep a cool head. Who's the target, anyway?"

Jason sighed heavily and ran a hand through his messy hair. He usually kept it buzzed pretty short, but it looked like it'd been a while as a few long bangs of white-blonde hair kept falling into his eyes, over his gold-framed glasses. He looked tired. Dark half-moons were printed beneath his eyes, deeper than usual.

It made sense, what with his particular brand of insomnia. I knew I looked the same, sometimes.

Jason sat up again before he spoke. "A politician called Wade Wyatt. Corrupt as hell and rich as shit—you know the type. His antics used to work in our favour, but recently he owes Sir's friends a lot of money and a _lot_ of favours." Jason laughed, dry as sandpaper. "Sounds like a real stand-up guy, right?"

I nodded slowly. "A classic case, then. What's the issue?"

"Well, no one knows where he is. He's gone underground, out of our reach—publicly under the guise of taking a political break, of course. Not a single one of his addresses is stored in any databases and he has a lot of friends in low places to help keep him hidden. We can't find a trace of him anywhere. Honestly, I'm beginning to lose hope." Jason fidgeted with his sleeve, pulling it down around his hand. "Another fuck-up of mine like this is exactly what Cupid has been waiting for. I've got enough enemies already—it'd be so easy for him to ruin everything, make my own recruits lose faith in me. And, hell, you and I both know he's been after my position forever."

His eyes were searching on mine, blue and hollow. I knew he wanted—no, _needed_ a solution, and thought I could offer him one. I looked down, mind moving a thousand miles an hour. "Can't you tempt him out of hiding somehow? Sir must have something he wants." I tapped my nails on the wooden table, still wondering, then gently grasped his arm. "Don't sweat it, okay? I'll think of something." _I always do._

Jason released a shuddering sigh. "Annie, we're not even close. Thalia and I...we're not even fucking _close_ to getting out of this shithole."

"Jason—"

"No, Annabeth. If our chance of living a life outside got destroyed, I think…" His hands tremored, his eyes fell.

'What?" I wanted to comfort him, hug him, but all I could do was hold his sleeve in silent support.

Jason shook his head. "I think if I lost my rank—our only hope of earning our way out—Thalia would stop fighting that shit in her bones. She's depressed again, I can tell." Then quieter, he mumbled, "I don't want her to die, Annabeth. God. I don't want to be alone." His voice was hoarse, like it is when you're either really sad or really tired or just sort of both.

There was nothing to say, so I said nothing. I looked back down at the documents in my hands to escape Jason's bitter gaze. An idea was beginning to form in my head, but I wasn't sure it was tangible yet. Still, I supposed it was something.

Across the mess hall, the door banged. I turned, hearing Percy call, "Piper!"

Piper and Roxanne were escorted in, no longer clad in handcuffs. I was too far away to hear, but Piper shouted something French at the guard as he left, flipping him off brashly. I was a little amazed they'd freed her hands of the cuffs, to be honest.

I got up, hurrying after Percy as he ran over to them. Roxanne grabbed Piper's arm, speaking fast and urgently, no doubt trying to calm her down.

I caught up with Percy just as he asked, "You both okay?"

Roxanne stepped forward, dark eyes searing. I could tell she'd been holding down her anger for a while. "Yeah, we are—no thanks to you, Rapunzel. I'm still none the _fucking_ wiser, by the way, about where the hell we are or what the hell we're doing here or even if darling Jackson was _ever_ who he claimed to be—"

"Roxanne," I interrupted, before her flood of emotion could drown the four of us. "Percy isn't here by choice. I know the situation's not perfect, but you won't be harmed if he continues to comply." I winced at how bad that sounded.

Roxanne lashed out again, mouth tight in anger. "Not by choice? What, I'm supposed to believe that? He isn't exactly in cuffs, is he?"

"Neither are you," Percy pointed out. He sighed, balling his sleeves over his fists in that way he always did. "Roxanne, I swear I'm going to get you guys out of here. They didn't hurt you, did they?"

Roxanne shook her head. "No, they just asked us some questions. Shit like if we knew Annabeth, if you ever said anything about this whole setup." Her eyes narrowed as her head turned to me. "So. I think I have the right to ask who the fuck you and Jackson really are."

Behind her, Piper had been stewing, saying nothing. Now she stepped forward, looking dangerous and coiled without the sleek cuffs restraining her. She glared at Percy, technicolour eyes simmering with rage. "Jackson."

Percy softened, reaching for her. "McLean, I'm—" Without warning, she slapped him, harsh and relentless and unforgiving. Percy grunted, hand flying up to clutch his reddening cheek. Still, he tried again to placate her. "Piper, I..."

She broke down, anger melting into sudden, wretched grief. Her voice was choked when she spoke. "I can't believe—you goddamn _liar_ —" Eyes glimmering with tears, she tried to slap him again, but he caught her wrist, guiding it away. Piper made a noise, hiding her face in the crook of his shoulder, holding tight to his sleeve. It was insane how fast they'd ricocheted from volatile to calm. "You disappeared," she mumbled. "You never told me anything about you. You came back with _her,_ covered in bandages. I was so...I thought you were dead..." Her voice cracked. She let go, putting space between them.

"It's a long story," Percy whispered.

"I want to hear it."

"Not now," he answered. "But I'll tell you everything. I promise." Piper seemed satisfied with that, simply nodding.

Roxanne laced their two hands together, almost on impulse. To me, she said, "I'm going to want a deal that's a little more material. This isn't my first tangle with shit like this." She had nothing to bargain with, but I inclined my head, wondering if I was underestimating this girl.

As the pair walked away to get something to eat, Piper whispered something into Roxanne's ear. Laughing, Roxanne kissed Piper's cheek, feather-light, as though she was afraid she might disappear. I ached a little bit at how they were somehow still happy, together, even in the midst of all the confusion we'd brought slamming down upon them.

Percy watched them walk away, something plaintive in his eyes. I brushed my knuckle against his—gently, imperceptibly, so as not to call attention. Even that single touch spoke volumes, more words than I could ever say to him aloud. _Don't worry. Stop thinking so hard. I'm here._

We finished our dinner quietly, back with Jason and Lou. More and more recruits flooded in, laughing and talking between one another, having finished their days. Occasionally, Percy would receive a passing comment about his and Cupid's fight, more often rude than not. Cupid had a lot of supporters here, and I figured most people would regard Percy's victory more as a personal slight against one of their leaders than anything else.

Percy rarely did any more than lift his head in reaction to the comments, choosing to avoid stoking the flames that were slowly sparking to life around him. I was scared of what might happen if those flames leapt any higher—I didn't know if he'd be the one to blister or if it'd be all of us.

Jason and Lou had already left, and we were about to follow them, when I heard a sickeningly familiar voice. "Oh, here's Jackson and his little girlfriend." It was Cupid, standing amongst a crowd of his subordinates with his arms folded over his chest. His hands dripped with new, glistening silver rings and he'd re-dyed his gelled, dark hair. There was even a trace of eyeliner on his upper lid. I knew that Cupid always fell back on vanity to soothe his ego whenever it got bruised, and all the little adjustments he'd made showed the true impact that losing to Percy had really had on him.

Percy nodded in greeting, his good humour fake as plastic. "Came for another black eye, did you?"

Cupid laughed, running a thumb lightly over his bottom lip. "I never said violence was on the agenda, Jackson. I'm just curious to see how you're holding up. You know, what with the new scene and all."

A counterfeit smile flickered onto Percy's face. "Thanks for the concern, but I'm good. Now, if you'll excuse me."

He made to turn away, but Cupid's hand darted out, grabbing Percy's shoulder. Cupid pulled Percy back, forcing him to look at him. "Did I say this conversation was over?" he asked, spitting.

Percy snarled, wrenching Cupid's vice-grip off his shoulder. "Can't you tell I don't want to fucking talk to you?"

One of Cupid's subordinates—Kelli—stepped forward. The brass knife strapped to her belt was strangely ornate, likely some collector's item. She drew it and ran a careful fingertip down the edge, lightly enough that no blood sprang up. "I saw you and your beautiful friend perform, you know. That night in the bar." She continued, smile quick as a flashing whip. "Piper McLean, I think her name was. She has a lovely voice." Kelli cocked her head, sizing Percy up. "I heard she was here, actually."

Percy's jaw bobbed as he clenched it. "Stay away from her," he gritted out.

Kelli grinned. I half-expected fangs to shred through her gums as she did, but surprisingly nothing happened. "I won't," she reassured him.

Cupid laid a silver-studded hand on her wrist, brows knitted together. "Oh, of course she won't. Kelli has manners. But, I have to say—your performance _was_ simply remarkable. I know Annabeth was quite taken by it." His gaze met mine, and it was utterly abrasive, like salt on a steaming wound.

Percy's reply was scathing. "So what?"

Kelli nodded at the grand piano set up on the small stage in the corner, where we had music sometimes. "Go play something. Sing me a little song, baby doll."

Percy scoffed. "Fuck off."

She feigned hurt. "Well, that's no way to speak to a superior."

With a jolt, I stood up. I'd had enough of her shit. " _Superior?_ We both know you're dirt compared to him, Kelli. I'll goddamn—"

"What?" Cupid smirked, snake-like. "You'll complain to Sir? I think we both know your dear uncle hates you even more than he does most people. Do us all a favour and stay out of this, Annie."

My mouth flapped open, then closed. I was saved the embarrassment of being stunned into silence when Percy rose from his seat. "You want me to sing? Fine. I'll fucking sing. But this means you stay the hell away from Piper, hear me?"

Kelli shrieked, a mess of a laugh. Sometimes I couldn't tell how stable she actually was. "Oh, I'll announce you!" She seized Percy's arm and dragged him away.

"Percy, wait!" I reached for him, but my fingers caught nothing but a whisper of his soft sleeve.

I could do nothing but watch as Kelli led Percy to the small stage, clapping her hands for quiet. "People! People! Listen up, 'cause Jackson here is performing _live_ for your sorry asses!"

Behind her, Percy looked vulnerable and afraid, a bleak, faded shadow of the glowing boy I'd seen sing in the bar the first time we'd met. Everyone's head turned toward him, eager for any sort of spectacle like fight night had been. The previous babble of voices slowly faded until silence hung heavy in the room.

All attention was on Percy. I watched him swallow his fear, jaded eyes shifting left and right over his audience. He sat down at the piano, opening the lid—careful, considering. A few people jeered at him, voices sickly-sweet and mocking. For half a second, his gaze met mine as it slid over the mess hall, then darted away so quickly I was left wondering if I'd imagined it.

Percy placed his hands on the ivory keys, their perfect gleam distinctly pure against his scarred skin. He began to play—quietly, hesitantly, but the notes rang out with a certain strength. The melody washed over the hall. It was so sweet, so innocent, I could hardly bear to listen.

The music picked up, and Percy started to sing. " _Eyes blue and hollow...as it rains, against their will..._ " His voice was inarguably clear, beautiful, but held a smoker's rasp that I knew would only get worse with time. Still, everyone in the room fell silent, their anticipation thick in the air.

The song swept itself into an eerie crescendo, rising and falling with Percy's singing. His hands moved in tandem with his voice, easy and thoughtless as a fluctuant breeze. While he sung about blood and flowers and falling apart into a thousand pieces, I thought about everything he'd told me last night. I was angry, and though I'd never admit it, scared—scared of losing him, scared of losing whatever the fuck it was we had.

" _Don't you speak over my voice; I will return from the shadows! And I'll bleed in your bed, turn it red..."_ The disaster Percy painted became more and more distinct, the ultimate image of quiet injustice. I was stricken, stolen by the song's strange beauty. The people around me swayed slightly in time with Percy's music, not quite remembering to breathe. Still, they did.

Percy finished, the final note ringing hoarse and imperfect. Nobody clapped, unwilling to break the fragile silence. When he stood up, I was a little surprised that the Earth kept turning. "Are you fucking happy?" he shot at the crowd, voice crisp with irritation—a painful, crawling contrast to the softness of his singing.

He stepped down from the stage and left without another word.

* * *

 **hello, my loves! yep, I'm here with another chapter. sorry this wasn't out earlier, but I've been knuckling down on a few other longer projects and fics recently. speaking of other fics, I posted some prose on here! it was all written in a midnight haze of black coffee and insomnia lmao but yeah, go check that out if you like.**

 **also? the tyrant's tomb is out in two days? I'm so goddamn excited? if u want,** **PM me when** **u finish reading it and we can sob together maybe?** **ok love y'all! the next chapter will be out soon.**

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	10. Running Out Of Reasons

**CHAPTER 10: RUNNING OUT OF REASONS**

PERCY

A week later, I'd somehow fallen into a routine. Every day, I woke up, trained and then saw Annabeth at dinner. It was a strange adjustment to have made, but I found I didn't mind it. Even though I was probably building a false sense of security, I hardly cared. Seeing her made everything worth it.

After my initial assessment, I was enlisted in one of Reyna's squads on probation. She'd seen me shooting one day and that was that—I'd immediately been placed under her command. I supposed it was better than having to answer to someone like Cupid, but she was always exceptionally rude to me and I couldn't work out why.

That morning, I'd woken up tired. A nightmare had reared its ugly head and I'd slept badly after, in restless fits. The dream had been nothing but darkness and cold nights on the run, slick with hot, wrenching pain—my dreams were never concrete, never clear. Just flashes of disjointed panic. When Rachel had woken me, I'd lashed out in a haze of fear. Luckily, she'd stepped away in time. I'd apologized again and again, but she'd waved me off. "Just go to breakfast, Jackson."

Now, I stood to attention in a training room, listening to Reyna brief us on the correct conduct she expected from us. She seemed especially pissed. I guessed some of her recruits must've been caught fighting or something. Rachel stood beside me, inspecting her nails. I whispered, "You think the vein on her forehead is gonna burst?"

She stifled a laugh. "Shut up," she shot back, hushed. Thank God I had a friend in the same squad as me, or I would've lost my mind.

Reyna was still talking. "Are we clear? Any more breaches of conduct and I will not hesitate to sign all of you up for bathroom duty. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," we chorused.

Satisfied, Reyna nodded, chin sharp. "Alright. Well, today we're going to be focusing on knife work. I know most of you are specialised shooters, but handling a gun is nothing compared to being efficient with a blade in close quarters. Plus, it was recently added to the training roster." She walked over to a rack of knives and picked one up. "Dare," she called. "Come to the front, please." Rachel did, a little uncertain.

Reyna offered her the knife, spinning it around in her palm so Rachel could take the handle. She gestured to the wall, fifteen feet away, where targets in the shape of human forms glowed faintly. "So, Dare. I'd like you to demonstrate to everyone the correct technique. Talk through what you're doing and don't fuck up."

"Yes, officer," she replied, accent thick around her vowels. Rachel stepped forward. Blowing a crimson strand of hair out of her eyes, she stepped up to the boundary line marked with duct tape on the floor. "Relax your body," she began, "left foot behind. Thumb at the centre of the knife, little finger around the base. Inhale, exhale—" Between one heartbeat and the next, Rachel threw the knife. A silver blur of motion, and _thunk._ The knife had landed between the eyes of a target—dead centre, at a 90-degree angle.

Rachel looked to Reyna, expression blank. "Two more times," Reyna said.

Retrieving a couple more knives, Rachel hurled them both, one after another. Her hands were viper fast, pearly white and stark against the dark knife handles. Both of her throws landed in the target's eyes, her original knife between them.

"Thank you, Miss Dare." Her smile was crawling, false as anything. "Questions?" No one spoke out. Gesturing to the rack of knives, she said, "So? You all know what to do."

Two minutes later, the humming of airborne knives and the clatter of metal sounded throughout the training room. Rachel and I stood in front of a target, taking turns. It'd been a long time since I'd worked with blades, but it didn't take long for me to remember the technique. As soon as my fingers curled around the first knife's cool, plastic handle, I could hear Juno's voice whispering instructions in my ear. _The knife is an extension of yourself, Percy. Don't focus on the target, focus on your actions._

I jolted. Shaking off the memories, I struggled to claw my way back to myself. The knife I'd just thrown had missed the target entirely, instead careening into the wall behind it. "Shit," I mumbled. _Juno's not here,_ I reassured myself. _She's not._

Rachel snorted. "God _,_ that was awful. You know, I thought Reyna recruited you because you could actually fight."

I shot her a dirty look out of the corner of my eye. "Fuck off. I was just distracted."

"Sure," Rachel laughed. She pouted, mocking me. "What, is your ego a little sore?"

I rolled my eyes. Shifting into position, I turned to the target. I exhaled, raising my knife, and threw. It spun forward, a flash of liquid metal, and landed deep in the target's forehead.I smirked at Rachel—it was easy to revel in the shock radiating off her. "You were saying?"

She huffed. "Beginner's luck," she grumbled, pushing past me to grab a knife. "My turn. I can definitely do better than that."

I let her through, stepping back with a laugh. "Beginner's luck, my ass. I've thrown plenty of knives before."

"Whatever."

We practised knife-throwing for maybe an hour, and Reyna stopped us every now and then to go over our mistakes. Eventually, she took pity on us. "Five-minute break," Reyna called. "After, we'll be moving on to hand-to-hand combat, so don't think for a second that you're done."

Rachel and I sat down heavily on the floor, breathing hard. The rest of our squad dispersed into small groups, milling around us. Their chattering voices echoed through the training room. "So, how long have you been in the squad for?" I asked Rachel, crossing my legs beneath me and resting my chin on my fist.

Rachel finished fixing her braid, tucking all her flyaway strands of hair back into it. With a sigh, she lay down on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. "A few months, I think. I moved here from the Marseille branch in November."

"How come?"

She was quiet for a few moments before she spoke. "I followed a friend."

"Are they involved in all this?" I asked hesitantly. Maybe I shouldn't have asked, but that couldn't stop my curiosity.

"No. And I wouldn't want this life for them, anyway." Her gaze flickered to my own from where it had been trained on the ceiling. Lime green and spattered with yellow flecks, Rachel's eyes were quietly bright. She tucked her elbow behind her neck as a headrest. "What about you? Where did you come from?"

"Just...music, really. Singing." I gestured vaguely. "Piper and I used to perform in bars, cafés—wherever would take us, to be honest."

"Yeah, I saw you sing in the mess hall," she said with a smile. "Kelli's a bitch, right? All she ever wants is to humiliate people." She paused. "I liked your song, though."

I laughed. "Thanks, but I know it wasn't good. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely get the melody out."

Rachel shook her head, a smile on her lips. "Why undersell yourself? It _was_ good. Strange, yes, but good."

We both went silent for a few moments—across the room, Reyna was kicking off at a younger recruit. Wincing in sympathy, I watched the scene unfold. "She's wound up pretty tight, huh?"

Rachel didn't reply. She was studying me—searching for something in my expression. Finally, she spoke. "How do you do it?"

"How do I do what?" My eyes still lingered across the room where Reyna was ripping into the recruit, rage peppered with Spanish and furious, sharp gestures. The recruit's head hung low as he endured the reprimand.

"How do you perform? Sing? I can't imagine laying myself bare in front of so many people." Rachel laughed, dry and self-deprecating. "If I tried, I know I'd pass out before even setting foot on the stage."

I shrugged slightly. "I just don't look. I guess it's easier to pretend that nobody's watching than look at their judgemental faces."

From across the room, Reyna called us over. "Alright everyone, break's over. Get over here."

I got up. Grumbling, Rachel uncrossed her legs. "Hand," she ordered.

I pulled her to her feet, laughing. "Fucking hell, you're heavy."

"Asshole." She shot me a dirty look.

Once everyone had gathered around the sparring stage, Reyna clapped her hands for quiet. "Okay, guys. Now, we're gonna be working on a touch of hand-to-hand combat." Immediately, a wave of groans and protests came from the squad. Reyna's face remained stony. "I don't care how much you hate it. Face it—most of you are crap, and we need to improve. Especially as we have a covert operation coming up soon with Grace's squad." She cracked her knuckles, cold gaze sliding over us. "Who's up first?"

A blonde, dark-eyed recruit stepped up to the stage. Her lips were drawn in a cruel, confident line. "Me."

Reyna nodded. "Good. Who else?"

One of the guys raised his hand. "I'll go."

"Alright. You two, stand facing each other. Opposite sides, please."

They both stepped to their respective sides. The girl swept her nimbus of blonde hair into a dishevelled bun atop her head. Reyna checked her watch. "Okay. I want you to fight until somebody successfully forces their opponent to yield. If neither of you get the upper hand by the two-minute mark, it'll be fifty press-ups. Ready?" A beat. "Fight."

Instantly, the guy sprang into action, feinting to the left and attempting to strike the girl's abdomen. She dodged, elbow flying out into his side. A grunt escaped his lips, and he aimed another punch. Missed, then struck her. Again and again, the pair flew around one another, always moving, never leaving their feet in the same spot for longer than a second. Still, the fight was over faster than I'd anticipated—the girl landed a solid blow to the guy's temple. He staggered, uncertain, before her knee landed in her stomach. He wheezed, doubling over, and in between one heartbeat and the next she had her arm around his throat. "I'm done," he croaked, voice dry as sandpaper.

The girl released him. He crumpled to his knees, gripping his doubtlessly bruised windpipe. "Fuck you," he grated out, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

She laughed. " _Désolé._ It's all in good fun, _oui_?" The guy gave her a dirty look and stepped off the stage, rejoining the rest of us.

Reyna clapped her hands for quiet. "Thank you, Camille. Now, I'm sure you all noticed how quickly she finished off the fight. Faster blows means a dazed opponent—aim to disorient. The longer you let a fight go on, the lower your chances of winning are. Not to mention, when you're running a covert op, you don't have time to stand around twiddling your thumbs. Engage only when you must, and if you do, always be ruthless. Be brutal. End it fast." Reyna checked her watch. "Alright, we don't have much time left until midday feeding. Everyone, pair up. I want you to practise footwork. No blood, please."

The rest of the session passed quickly. Rachel headed back to the dorms to shower and change before getting lunch, leaving me with some time to myself. I hadn't spoken to Annabeth last night like I usually did, as she'd been busy working on plans with Grace. I still had no idea what mission they were planning, but I did know it had to be important. Everyone in Reyna's squad had been tense about it for a while—it had been a while since there'd been a mission so dangerous, apparently. I resolved to ask Annabeth for details, if I could help. Back when I'd been with SPQR, my stepdad had often enlisted my help to help him plan all his fucked-up shit. I had a strategic mind, apparently. My mom had always said I had the gift of seeing ways out of difficult situations.

Considering I was still alive, I wasn't going to dispute that.

I headed to the mess hall, not worrying too much about being still sweaty from training. I'd just catch a shower later. As I walked in, I carded a hand through my damp red hair, trying to instil some semblance of order into my messy fringe. God, it needed a cut.

I caught sight of Roxanne across the mess hall. She was sitting alone, which was unusual—her and Piper were usually attached at the hip. I grabbed a plate of food before heading over to her, weaving through the tables.

Roxanne looked despondent, resting her chin on one hand. She was picking at her spaghetti, staring into space. Her hair was a mess; its frizzy, black corkscrew curls had been wrangled into a bun atop her head, which was unlike her. Bleak circles were etched beneath her dark eyes.

I sat down at the place opposite her. Roxanne barely even reacted. Instead, she just continued to trail her fork through the tomato sauce on her spaghetti. "You alright?" I asked.

She didn't respond but did put down her fork. After a few moments of silence, she looked at me. "Jackson," she started.

I started to tuck into my jacket potato. "Uh huh?"

"I'm bored," she stated, tone dry.

My mouth tugged up into a smile. "Okay."

"It's been a week, and I'm going fucking mental. You're the person who dragged me into this mess."

"Hey, now—"

"No, you are. So, you're going to help me. I need something— _anything_ —to do. My life is a wreck. I can't finish university. They're never gonna let me the _fuck_ out of here in case I went to the police, and I've made my peace with that. I still hate you, though. For what you've done to Piper."

I wished I knew where in hell this conversation was going. "I'm sorry, Roxanne," I tried.

She cut me off. Her dark, thick brows were furrowed with anger and irritation, and I could read frustration in the downturn of her lips. "No, Percy. I know this situation isn't what you want, either, but you still goddamn owe me. So." She closed her eyes, letting out a sharp exhalation. "I can fight. I can handle a gun. I come from...a kinda messy background. Like you, I'm guessing—so you understand. Even when you try to run, it can come out of nowhere and pull you back under."

I knew exactly what she was talking about, from first-hand experience. I'd never have guessed, but I had more in common with Roxanne than I'd guessed. I put down my knife and fork, letting them clatter on the plate. "Wait, slow down. You've been involved with gang shit?" My thoughts moved in a blur as dots connected themselves. "Oh...back in America. You came here to escape. Is that why you're handling this so well? Because all this is familiar territory to you?"

Roxanne sighed, slumping forward. "I hoped no one here would be able to find out, in case they made me join up, but I guess that's inevitable now, anyway."

I felt sick to my stomach. I couldn't believe I'd been so careless. I'd accidentally gotten her involved in this crap again when she'd been fighting for so long to stay out of it. "How did you get involved?"

"My brothers. There were four of us, and our dad was always pretty out of it. He was schizophrenic and had a heart ailment. I was always the one who had to take care of him." Roxanne rested her chin on her hand, eyes vacant. "My oldest brother joined first, then the rest of us followed. The gang was the only chance I had to survive, where we lived." Roxanne laughed, but the sound was hollow. "I decided to get out when my brothers were killed due to a debt left unpaid." She shrugged. "I moved to France, taking nothing with me. I got a job at that bar, a scholarship at an art school." Her gaze softened. "I met Piper, back when she still lived with her dad. I loved her—I still do. It was my fault she got kicked out. He caught us together, started screaming at Piper. Calling her slurs. I remember thinking he was gonna hit her, even right in front of me."

"Roxanne." My voice was hard, unfailing. "It's not fair that all that happened to you. It's not fair that I've let this happen to you, now." I let loose a breath. "But you don't really believe Piper getting kicked out was your fault, right? Some people are just fucking assholes. Especially to their kids."

Roxanne looked at me, then. Really looked at me. Vulnerability was buried deep into the contours of her face, but there was strength there too. I could see it. "Percy," she said. "I can fight. I can be an asset. I know the only way Piper and I are ever getting out is if we settle whatever debt these people think we owe for being _liabilities,_ so I need you to get me in with your squad. I can handle a gun. I know how covert ops work. Please _,_ do this for me. Don't pretend you don't owe me a favour."

At that, I wondered how my life had become this way: a constant, jarring battle of _give_ and _take._ "I'd have done it for you anyway. I'm not like them." I sighed. "You're my friend, Roxanne. I want to help you." I picked up my knife and fork and started tucking into my jacket potato again. Through a mouthful of food, I said, "I'll ask Reyna later. She's always looking for new missionaries—but you're gonna have to prove your skills to her, first."

The first genuine smile I'd seen from Roxanne this whole conversation blossomed on her face. "That's not a problem. And, Percy...thanks."

"Don't worry about it," I replied. Though I knew this was the best thing I could do for her right now, I couldn't help but overthink. What if I was leading her into danger? What if she got hurt? Piper would never forgive me. I'd never forgive _myself._

* * *

ANNABETH

The past week had been a blur of late nights planning with Jason, organising teams and deadly anticipation. I could tell the feeling was rife in the chests of everyone going on the operation. There was still so much up in the air, and it was common knowledge that we'd all be in for it if anyone fucked this mission up. The money involved went all the way up to Sir's superiors, and there was interest bleeding through our branches all over Paris. No one was bothering to stem it, so I knew this could only end messily.

I was most worried about Jason. His head had been all over the place, torn up between anxiety about Thalia and fear that this operation would go down the drain. At the moment, his head was resting on the chopping board and everyone knew it—there was a lot riding on his leadership. If he messed up, Cupid was waiting behind him like a hawk to swoop in and acquire his rank. Sir's favour for Jason was slowly souring, and Jason couldn't afford to lose his place here. I knew I'd fight for him, but my influence as Sir's niece could only go so far.

The operation was fast-approaching, and it was all I could do to hold myself together. I was being stretched in a dozen directions, and the worst thing was that I hadn't even been able to talk to Percy. Recently, I'd been relying on him more and more to anchor me, though I knew I shouldn't. It was just that he made everything feel...a little less shit.

That night when we'd laid on the roof together and talked had changed things between us. Maybe it was stupid, but I felt like I saw him more clearly now. And, God, I hated that I didn't mind all the shitty stuff he'd told me about his life. It even made me care about him more.

Now, I walked through the labyrinthine halls of our base, staring down at the messages on my phone. From Jason: _i got new intel on wade wyatt. managed to get it out of sir. i'll tell you later._ From Reyna: _Chase, can you help organise a meeting for me? Get everyone who's going on the Wyatt mission and tell them to come to briefing room 14 after evening feeding. I've informed my squad already._

I typed back, _Sure._ Percy would be there, then—along with the rest of his squad. Though I knew he'd probably been on plenty of operations before in his old life, it still baffled me how easily he'd settled into life here and integrated with Reyna's squad. After all, I'd only ever known him as the messy-haired runaway with a nice voice and a few scars.

I texted Jason to send his squad to Hold 14 after feeding, just as Reyna had asked me to, and contacted the other superiors whose subordinates I knew were attending the operation. Then, before I could think better of it, I texted Percy. _Where are you? We need to talk._ He was probably busy—I doubted he'd get back to me before the meeting.

To my surprise, his reply pinged back only a couple of minutes later. I opened it, and it read _on my way to training room F in five minutes. I'll be alone, we can talk then if u want._

 _Ok, I'll head over,_ I texted back, then slid my burner phone back into my jean pocket.

When I arrived twenty minutes later, I tentatively pushed open the heavy double doors to the training room. Before I'd come, I'd changed into light gym clothes: a black sports bra and fitted sweatpants, so I could train while we talked. Within, the lighting was harsh—white and fluorescent. My footsteps landed loudly against the echoing stone floor. Dozens of punching bags and sparring stages filled the room and a rack of MMA gloves was propped against the wall, along with plenty of hand wrap.

The sound of punches landing on tough fabric resounded from across the room. I turned my gaze to see Percy standing at a punching bag, absorbed in his training. He was slick with sweat and the bronze, scarred muscles in his arms and back were working with the strain. He had good form, good balance. I wondered who'd taught him—his stepfather, or someone else? Shaking my head, I pushed the thought out of my head and went to get some hand wrap, then walked over to where Percy stood.

He didn't notice me as I approached. He continued punching the bag, pace steady. I watched, a little fascinated, as I bound my hands. A bead of sweat trickled down his neck, right over his dark SPQR brand. His dyed-red hair was damp and ridiculously messy— it was getting long. Maybe he would let me cut it for him.

"Hey," I said, announcing my presence.

Percy jumped, then turned to face me. He relaxed when he saw who it was, shoulders slumping again where before they'd been tense. His eyes looked surreal in the harsh light, bottle-green and bright. "Oh, Annabeth. I forgot you were coming." He turned back to the punching bag. "You alright?" he tossed over his shoulder.

I took up the one next to him, tightening the wrap on my knuckles. "Yeah, I'm alright." I moved into the correct stance and started landing blows on the bag. It made a thumping sound when I hit it, again and again and again. Feeling my blood start to warm, I reached out to steady the bag and cast a glance over to Percy. "You know it's past training time, right? You could be having a break before evening feeding."

Percy pushed his bangs back so they didn't hang in his face. "I know, but I like doing this. Practicing sparring calms me down, I guess. I couldn't do it for a long time when I was on the run so it's nice to have the chance again."

I nodded. "I get that." Before I continued with my reps, I turned to him. "I wanted to talk to you about the upcoming mission. I know you're a—a good fucking fighter. I know you've been in shit like this before, but..." I sighed, frustrated that my words weren't coming out how I wanted them to. "Please, Percy...don't be reckless. I know you, and I know that you're not exactly the most self-preserving person ever. So, when we're there, I need you to look out for yourself. Don't get shot for nothing." _Don't leave me alone._

There was a half-smile tugging at Percy's face. "I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

I rolled my eyes, pushing him away playfully. "Fuck off."

Percy laughed, nearly falling over from the force of my shove. "Sorry, sorry." He was quiet for a moment. "I do promise I won't be stupid, though." A pause. "You know that, right? I wouldn't just..." He trailed off. "I promise." He sounded so genuine.

I ducked my head, hiding my smile. "Get on with the goddamn exercise, Jackson." I started another rep, this time pulling my punches from lower. I could still feel his gaze on me. I wondered what in hell he found so interesting.

"Wait," Percy began. I stopped what I was doing, eyes flickering back to him. "I didn't know you had another tattoo." He gestured at my stomach. I remembered that the sports bra and sweatpants I'd changed into to train left my waist exposed—two fine, red bands of ink encircled me, going all around my back as well in parallel lines. They were just below my belly button, and one was half a centimetre thicker than the other. I sighed, annoyed I hadn't thought about wearing something that'd cover them up. "They're just…reminders."

"Reminders?"

I jerked my head at the tattoo on his neck. "Like that."

Percy fell silent. Normally I didn't mind his eyes on me, but this time was different. I felt vulnerable. "What are they for?" he asked. I knew he understood that I hadn't wanted them, just like his SPQR tattoo hadn't been his own choice; it had come with the territory.

I adjusted the cloth around my left hand, fixing it where it was slipping. "When I was younger, I wanted to get the fuck out of this place. My dad had recently died, and Sir had inherited his rank. Where life here had once been tolerable—if not draining—it became unbearable. I was pushed to my limits constantly, kept under Sir's thumb. And God, I was so young. We all were." I took a deep breath, choosing to again meet Percy's eyes. I hated the way he looked so understanding. So forgiving. "Every day, I felt like I was drowning. So I did the only thing I could to get myself out, even for a short while—I got myself arrested. Repeatedly. Set fire to cars, vandalised government buildings, anything and everything I could do to fuck up my record so I couldn't walk free anymore." I laughed dryly. "Sir was never too happy about the way I always tried to draw the attention of the police. I was bruised for days the first time he had to bail me out of custody."

Percy balled up his fists, brow knotting. "Fucking jackass," he mumbled.

"It was only a few times he did that. Afterwards, I learned how to stay out of his way." I shrugged, pushing away the emotions as they came. "At any rate, I eventually did two stints in juvie. The first time was six months, the second a year and a half. Getting myself sent there—away from him—was the best decision I ever made."

Percy shook his head. "That's shit. You shouldn't have had to go through that." To my surprise, he reached out and took my hand. He gently ran his thumb over my palm, a steady, reassuring pressure. "I'm never gonna let that jackass hurt you again," he said. There was no anger in his voice, only certainty.

I slipped my hand out of his. "It's not your problem." I realised that sounded cruel. My voice softened, and I rephrased. "I appreciate it, but he's not worth it."

Percy's mouth was a tight line. He nodded, but it seemed forced. "Anyway...the tattoos?"

"Oh, yeah." I realised I'd gotten side-tracked. "We have a tradition here that after you've spent time incarcerated, you get these red lines around your waist. The longer your sentence, the thicker they are. They're meant to resemble a rope. Something binding you. The idea is that they remind you never to get caught again."

Percy turned away, scoffing. "That's stupid."

I smiled. "I guess it is. Anyway, I don't mind them. They make me feel like I survived something."

Percy glanced at me again. I saw recognition there—he understood. When he started again on the punching bag, I couldn't tear my eyes away from his lithe, moving hands. They were a mess of scars and bent fingers, but were marks of survival. Like my tattoos. Even the self-inflicted ones on his arms, the ones he hid from the world but never me...I wondered if they irritated him. If he hated them. If even though he wanted them gone, he didn't mind having the evidence of a struggle on his body.

His scars screamed to the world that he was a fighter. If I'd lived through the same shit he had, I maybe wouldn't mind that.

* * *

 **Hey guys! really sorry I left y'all hanging for a few months haha but I'm here now? I have been writing, life was just hectic so I couldn't get so much done. Recently, I've had a lot more time though so I've thankfully managed to finish a couple more chapters of this—the next one will be out next Sunday.**

 **Also, I uploaded a new, complete fic last weekend! It's called Body Gold and I've been working on it for a while so I'd love if it brings some happiness to your lives. hope you guys are all safe and feeling ok amidst this pandemic xx**


	11. To Fall Back Again

**CHAPTER 11: TO FALL BACK AGAIN**

PERCY

After Annabeth and I finished training together, we just talked for a while. Our conversation ranged from everything to nothing. I liked that we could cling to this suggestion of normality for some time longer, even if it was a farce. Annabeth looked sweat-slick and shining after exercise—her hair was a mess and her cheeks were flushed, but even that was endearing. I tried not to think too hard about how she made me feel, instead choosing to enjoy our moments together as they came. After all, I knew they could be snatched away at any given moment if or when I let my guard down.

Instead of heading to get dinner before the meeting, I showered and then changed at my dorm. Rachel had spilt paint everywhere the night prior but hadn't quite cleaned it all up, so my shoe came away sticky wherever I stepped. At least the paint wasn't on any of my stuff, I supposed.

Feeling fresher, I checked my phone and realised I was due to be at the meeting. Adjusting my worn leather jacket around my shoulders, I quickly left my dorm. It didn't take long to reach the room the meeting was being held in. I pushed open the door. Inside, dozens of recruits were crowded around a table. Some were part of Reyna's squad, others weren't. Several superior officers were sitting down in chairs around the table; they weren't standing like the rest of their subordinates. The table before them was a mess of brass paperweights and loose files that were presumably plans.

Casting my gaze around the room, I caught sight of Roxanne. She was standing to the side, talking in low tones to Reyna. Reyna was smiling, arms folded, and nodding along to whatever Roxanne was saying. Just then, Roxanne's vision snagged on me and her face lit up. "Percy!" she called, waving me over. I obliged, weaving in between rows of recruits.

"You alright?" I asked, leaning against the wall beside them. Earlier, I'd spoken to Reyna, explaining what Roxanne had told me and how I thought she should join the squad. Reyna had clearly talked to her about it since. From Roxanne's expression, it looked like Reyna had agreed.

"Yeah. Just wanted to say thanks, Percy." Roxanne offered me a smile.

Reyna tilted her head, appraising me. "You should've sent her to me earlier, Jackson. I watched her spar—she's good. Can handle a gun, too." Reyna turned to Roxanne, cocking a brow. "I'll be expecting you in training from now on—every day, understand?" She slid her eyes over to me, a little mocking. "Maybe you can teach this one a few things."

I rolled my eyes as Reyna walked away. "In your dreams," I muttered to Roxanne.

She grinned. "We'll have to see, won't we?"

Suddenly, the room fell quiet as one of the superiors clapped their hands to divert our attention. Jason and Reyna were standing at the head of the table. Jason was clad in black military uniform, intimidating as ever.

He cleared his throat. "Evening, recruits. I'm sure you're all aware of the purpose of this meeting; it's been in the making for several weeks now. Each one of your squads has been appointed to the upcoming covert operation regarding the assassination of Wade Wyatt, not to mention the apprehension of a couple of his slavering underdogs." Jason pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up his nose, piercing the crowd around him with his bracingly blue gaze. "You've been gathered here so we can disclose the details. However, these details must not be divulged to any recruit who isn't partaking in the mission." He turned to Reyna. "Ramirez-Arellano will now brief you on the basic itinerary. Your superiors have been instructed to notify their squads in due course about the more minute elements of the mission."

"Thank you, Grace. Now, listen up, recruits. You'll only get one shot at asking questions." Reyna blew a misbehaving lock of hair out of her eyes, snapping shut the file she had in her hand. "Alright. In one week, we're heading to Cascais, Portugal. We received intel that Wyatt's holding an illicit party there—and it's on one of his prized yachts. This is the closest we've ever been to discovering his location since he went under the radar. We, emphatically, _cannot fuck this up._ Half of you will be sent to assimilate Wyatt's mansion in the capital, Lisbon, while the party is taking place. It's suspected that he's hiding a lot of laundered money in his vaults—blood money, which belongs to us. There will be a follow-up meeting tomorrow regarding this sub-operation for the recruits that will be involved in it." Reyna sighed. "The yacht party, however, is going to be far more difficult to infiltrate. Only a few squads will be going on to the yacht as we need bodies outside for getaway, clean-up and reconnaissance. My own squad and Grace's have been selected, as well as a few other subordinates and superiors with the appropriate skill sets. Most of us will simply go in undercover, wearing the correct attire, but some teams will enter through a side entrance, undetected, in order to devise a reliable way out so we can covertly remove the hostages."

Jason stepped forward. "We've managed to acquire an architectural blueprint of Wyatt's yacht. Bear in mind that it's six years old and may not be fully reliable anymore. Here." He slid a piece of paper out a file and gave it to the superiors, who passed it around themselves. "Some improvisation will no doubt be necessary, but all active squads may remain in contact with one another via comms. Wade Wyatt is aware that we are on his tail. He will have made precautions, so it's our job to be one step ahead of him and his security at all times."

I started to zone out a bit, my mind drifting elsewhere. God, how could they expect us to listen for this long? My gaze wandered around the room, seeking anything interesting. It snagged on Annabeth. She was sitting at the table, feet propped up, reading through a file. I became briefly transfixed by a soft, flyaway lock of hair that had escaped her messy ponytail and the way it shifted as she breathed.

It took a fair bit of effort to tear my attention away from her and back to Reyna and Jason. Reyna was still talking, hands moving animatedly. "One final note: I know they're not in attendance of this meeting, but we have recently been notified by Sir that in order to ensure the success of this operation, Cupid's squad will also be joining us." My heart thudded. It was clear from her sordid expression exactly what Reyna thought of this decision. "Sir believes we require some form of...insurance." She shook her head. "It's not my place to question his motivations."

Beside Reyna, Jason's eyes flickered with anger. His arms were crossed, betraying his irritation and volatility. I wondered when he'd found out. After all, Cupid was his biggest rival. What did it say about Sir's faith in Jason, one of his highest commanding officers, that he was allowing Cupid to infringe on Jason's operation? Cupid had been vying for Jason's rank for ages now—everyone knew that. I figured maybe Sir's allegiance was shifting. Crumbling. Maybe he wanted to see if Cupid would fare better in Jason's rank.

The meeting adjourned. Everyone dissolved into a messy crowd of recruits, eager to get back to their dorms or to go head to the rec room. I talked to Roxanne for a moment before she left to go get in some evening training with Reyna and a few other subordinates.

As I was about to leave, I felt a hand close around my wrist. I snatched my hand back somewhat viciously, old reflexes coming back from wherever they hid in the recesses of my memory. Surprisingly, it was only Jason. "Sorry for making you jump," he said, expression apologetic. "I need to speak to you. Can you come with me to the rec room for a while?"

I rubbed my arm, still a little startled. "Uh, yeah. Sorry," I replied, shaking off the memory. "Now?"

Jason nodded. "Yeah, if that's okay."

We headed down to the rec room. Anxiety and upset radiated from Grace in waves. He seemed absent—his gaze was shuttered and rarely lifted from the floor. Curiosity ate me up as I wondered what it was he wanted to speak to me about. I buried my hands deep into my pockets, letting out a tired sigh. Life at the moment was more exhausting than it'd been in a long time.

Jason and I went to sit at the rec room's bar, pulling up stools. The bartender, without prompting, slid Jason a small glass of Jack Daniels. It was probably his usual poison. Jason slid a couple of euros across the table in payment. When he asked me if I wanted anything, I shook my head in dismissal. If I had one drink, I'd eventually want another, and I was keen to avoid waking up tomorrow with a pounding headache. Instead, I dug a packet of cigarettes out of the inside pocket in my jacket and slid one out.

Beside me, Jason's lip quirked. "I don't think you can smoke in here."

In reply, I lit up and took a drag. I shrugged. I was doubtful that anyone else actually followed the policies here anyway. "What did you want to talk to me about?" I asked, exhaling a wisp of bitter smoke out through the corner of my mouth.

With a sigh, Jason leaned on his fist, swirling the whiskey in his glass around with his other hand. "You're probably aware of the, uh... _tension_ between me and Cupid."

I nodded slowly. "Everyone is."

"Yeah, well. I can't let him take my rank. I worked so fucking hard to gain Sir's favour—I can't give up now." Frustration bled through his tone, rattling his words. "I don't know how much Annabeth's told you about why I work for him, but I have, um, debts to pay off."

I brought my fag to my lips, speaking around it. "For Thalia, right?"

Jason gazed into his glass. The light caught the cloudy liquid inside it, reflecting dimly on his face. "If I'd known Cupid would be coming on the Wyatt mission, I would've abdicated leadership of it." He rubbed his face. "He's gonna do something to fuck it up, I know he will. He jumps at every chance to undermine me." Jason turned to me, eyes electric as ever. "You're coming on the operation. You gotta watch him, Jackson. Please, don't let him try anything."

I couldn't dispute that Cupid would try and mess up the mission purely because Jason was the one leading it. I half-smiled. "You don't have to ask me twice. Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him."

Jason exhaled in relief. "I did remember you had a bone to pick with the fucker, which is why I'm asking you in particular." Downing his whiskey, he cocked a brow at me. "You know, it's rumoured you knew Cupid back in the day. The hell's that about?"

I worked on my cigarette for a moment before replying, letting the nicotine wash through me in alleviating waves. My answer, when it came, was hesitant. "Well, no one here knows, but I grew up with him. We were both in my stepdad's gang." I snorted. "Before you ask—yeah, Cupid was an asshole then, too." My past was weird to deliberately think about after trying to push the trauma of it away over so many years of running. I knew Cupid hadn't had it easy, either, but at least I'd retained some sense of decency while he'd completely lost his.

Jason's eyes widened a little. "You're joking. How'd he switch over here, then? Surely your stepfather's people will be out to get him now."

I shook my head. I had to admit, the same thought had niggled at me for a while. "He probably left for the same reasons me and my mom did." I laughed dryly. "And yeah, I'm sure Gabe was pissed off—and still is—but Cupid's got too much protection here. Plus, I know Sir wouldn't want a rival gang to undermine him by killing one of his officers."

Jason grinned, almost madly so. "Well, I hope your stepdad offs him for me anyway."

I finished my cigarette and stumped it out on the table. "Wouldn't put it past him," I mumbled, slipping another fag between my lips and lighting it. My eyes flickered up to the death pool blackboard, sorting through the names written on it. Jason's total had gone up by a couple hundred euros, which didn't surprise me. But my gaze snagged on one name, nearer the bottom. "Fuck," I said, with emphasis. _Percy Jackson: €931._

Jason winced when he saw where I was looking. "Yeah, I'd hoped you might not see that. Honestly, don't read into it. It's 'cause you beat Cupid at fight night—he's spoiling to take you down a notch, save his wounded pride. He probably got a bunch of his lackeys to pool some money in just to scare you."

It was hard to rip my eyes away from the number beside my name—an uneasy feeling had settled into the pit of my stomach. I flicked my cigarette to ash it. "Whatever. It's just a bet." Still, I knew it wasn't.

By the time Jason and I finished talking, Jason was slightly drunk and it was almost eleven 'o' clock. I didn't head back to my dorm—it would be a long time before I'd be able to even begin to think about sleep. Anyway, I still wanted to speak to Roxanne about the mission. She and I were on the same squad now, and I needed to ask her about some of the details regarding our roles in it. Though I knew Reyna was going to brief us tomorrow before training, I was itching to find something to do. Sometimes I got anxious like this, and hyper-focusing on whatever was the cause was the only way I could get past it.

I arrived at Roxanne and Piper's dorm, floorboards creaking beneath my feet. The base was creepy at this hour, without the laughing and talking of recruits. I rapped on the door, calling, "Roxanne?" I waited, fidgeting with my sleeve, but there was no reply. I paused for a moment, then knocked again. Still no reply. With a start, I realised the door was unlocked. "Um—Roxanne? Piper?" Hopefully no one had been in their room and stolen anything. Cautiously, I pushed open the door. It creaked, almost wailing.

I stepped inside. My heart jolted. In the darkness, Piper was sitting against the wall, shoulders slack, legs messily slumped before her. French music played from a battered radio in the corner. Piper's eyes were shut, and she was nodding along in a detached, jittering kind of way. A couple of empty syringes lay discarded next to her.

I freaked out. "Oh, my God! Piper!" I ran to her, kicking the syringes away so I could kneel down. My hands found her shoulders and I shook her slightly.

She was unresponsive for a moment. I wanted to scream, but then her eyelids fluttered open. "Percy. _Ça va?"_ she mumbled, smiling dopily.

Piper's skin was dangerously hot and slick with sweat, and the whites of her eyes were bloodshot. I took her arm, pushing up her sleeve. New track marks I'd never seen before streaked her forearm, forking out from the crease of her elbow. "Shit," I muttered. "Shit. Shit." I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed that Piper had been using again. I lay her head down in my lap, pushing her hair away from her face. Piper looked euphoric, but I knew soon that'd fade away, dredging everything good in her system away with it. We'd been over this routine so many times, but it'd been months since I'd had to sit with her through a trip and endure the aftermath. I should've known that being in a place like this, where access was so easy, that she'd fall back into old habits.

Piper's limbs were shuddering slightly. " _Désolé,_ " she mumbled. She reached up for my face, something she did quite a lot. Her fingertips grazed my cheekbone, then fell away. I caught her hand before it could smack against the floor.

I realised I was close to crying. When I spoke, I spoke in French, my voice a smoker's rasp and wet with tears. "I didn't want you to be here again. I thought...I hoped...Why?"

Piper's eyes were closed again. " _C'est difficile de vivre sans_." Then, in English: "Please don't tell Roxanne." She sounded quiet, vulnerable.

I held her close to me. "I'm gonna get you outta this place. I promise." I hated this. I hated not knowing how to help her, how to stop her from relapsing. I knew this was my fault; she'd been doing better, doing _okay_ in the weeks we'd been living with Roxanne. Now, with this complete disruption, it was no wonder she'd lost her footing. I took her hand. "I'm sorry," I whispered, but no sound came out.

I stayed with her for hours after that.

* * *

 **The one good thing about being in isolation is that I've suddenly got _so_ much time to write, which is nice :) In the upcoming chapters, a lot of things are going to fall into place. The following chapter will be up next Sunday like normal. I'm excited and hope you guys are too xx**

 **You can find the pinterest board at my account: _suicidal__ _stolen_art_**


	12. Crisp Trepidation

**CHAPTER 12: CRISP TREPIDATION**

ANNABETH

It was early in the morning—we'd be leaving for Portugal in a few hours. The mission would be taking place tomorrow evening and anticipation had settled into my bones like concrete. I desperately hoped that nothing would go wrong, but that hope felt like a delusion. I agreed with Jason; with Cupid on the mission, we were doomed to fail. Still, there was nothing I could do to stop it. Sir's decision was final, so we had to just go ahead and hope everything fell into place the way we wanted it to.

Outside the base, I was overseeing a squad of recruits loading up the vans with all our equipment, firearms and ammunition. We'd gone through this process countless times, for most of the operations we'd done, but for some reason this time had an air of finality to it. The faces of the recruits bustling around the loading bay were grim and stony as they endured the drizzling rain that was always so common to Paris' winters.

"Lou Ellen!" I barked. She turned around, curly hair tumbling over her shoulder as she did so. "Take a couple recruits with you and go fetch the rest of the equipment from storage. We need to be out of here by midday."

Lou Ellen nodded. "Yes, ma'am." She disappeared off with a few other recruits, as I'd instructed. So far, everything was going fine. I was scared to jinx it.

Behind me, I heard footsteps. "Chase," someone called.

I glanced over my shoulder to see Reyna approaching. She looked far more prepared for the mission than I was. Her dark hair was coiled into a tight braid and her uniform fitted her like a glove. I knew I looked like a state in comparison to her; I'd barely slept, and the half-moons under my eyes were deeper than normal. "Ramirez-Arellano," I shot back. Maybe that was irritable of me, but hell—no one had the right to be so perky at his hour.

Reyna stepped up to my side, arms folded. Her gaze flickered over the dozens of recruits loading up the numerous vans parked in the bay. Evaluating, assessing. I knew she had a lot on her mind, too. She hadn't said anything outright about Cupid joining the operation, but I could always see anger and contempt at his intrusion sizzling like oil beneath the surface of her skin. "Annabeth," she started. That in itself was a surprise—she rarely called me by my first name. "What's going on between you and Jackson?"

My breath faltered. "What do you mean?" I asked. I didn't look at her, afraid of what she'd see in my expression.

Reyna sighed heavily. "I'm not a fucking idiot. When you first brought him here, I did wonder, but now it's clear as day. I know you're strong, but he's dangerous. You barely know him."

I struggled not to glare at her. "You make him sound like a sociopath."

"For all you know, he could be!"

"Well, he's not!" I shouted, then pinched the bridge of my nose. "I know him, Reyna. He's not just gonna go unhinged without warning."

Reyna stared me down, eyes cold and dark. "Do you know anything about his past, Chase? I doubt he's told you much of what I've discovered about him! Did you know his stepfather, Gabe Ugliano, runs a corrupted, low-life gang over in America? Ugliano's a goddamn psycho—even over here, people know him as the Butcher. I'm sure you can guess why."

That rattled me. "Percy's not associated with him anymore."

Reyna's brows were furrowed, jaw clenched. Her voice was raised when she spoke. "You don't know that, Annabeth! He's still the Butcher's son. Who knows, maybe Jackson's a double agent. Why else would he be trying to get in your fucking pants—"

"Enough!" I yelled. "I am your superior officer, Ramirez-Arellano, and you will treat me as such." When I spoke again, my voice was dangerously quiet. "I'm not naïve. I have known him for months. And who are you to judge someone based on their past? On their background? If Sir had had his way with you, he'd have left you and Hylla to rot in the arms of those privateers. You're lucky I took pity on you." With that, I turned away, resuming my supervision of the recruits still loading up the vans. My vision was tinged red and hazy with anger.

To her credit, some measure of regret bled into Reyna's tone. "Annabeth, I'm sorry."

I interrupted her, not yet ready to play nice. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?" I didn't hear Reyna leave, but I knew that she did.

* * *

A few hours later, everything was ready to go. I'd shoved a few of my personal belongings into a suitcase, as well as the dress and jewellery I'd need to go undercover for the operation. Before I left to head down to where everyone was meeting in the lobby, though, my phone pinged with a text from Jason. _Can I talk to you before we leave? Urgent._ I fired back a quick response of _ok. I'll be outside the lobby_ before grabbing my suitcase and heading to the lift.

When I got to the lobby, Jason was waiting outside. He looked like a frightened animal—he kept wringing his hands, looking left and right like he expected someone to jump him at any moment. When I approached, his expression melted into relief. "Oh, Annabeth," he said.

"You alright?" I asked.

Jason jerked his head in some semblance of a nod. "Yeah. Fine. Just...I talked to Sir."

A sense of foreboding churned in my gut. "And? What did he say?"

"He let me know about his, um, expectations. That he's counting on me to lead the Wyatt operation to success, and if I don't…" Jason rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, then I can expect to lose my rank in office. God, I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do." His breathing was getting shallow, and I could tell he was working himself into a panic attack.

I grabbed his hand, rubbing soothing circles into his palm. "Jason. Jason. Look at me." He did. "Sir's all talk, okay? You're one of his best officers. Besides, I'm gonna do everything I can not to let this mission go off the rails. So will Percy. So will Reyna. It's gonna work out, yeah? I swear."

Jason's hands were shaking. "I'm scared, Beth. I'm fucking scared."

Unsure what else to do, I pulled him into a hug. "Quit thinking about the worst-case scenario, alright?"

Jason half-nodded into my shoulder. I stepped back from him, scanning his face. He looked calmer, now. I could understand why he was anxious, but he'd only make it through this mess if he remained determined and didn't allow his fears to get the better of him. Jason closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. "Alright, I've gotta go in there and lead now."

"Yeah. You gonna be okay?"

"I think so. Thanks, Annabeth." He smiled, and we walked through the door together.

* * *

It didn't take us long to drive to the airport. Sir had connections there, so we could drive our vans in through an empty unmonitored entrance. Though I knew we were safe from prying eyes, there was no way my heart would stop pounding until we were safely in Portugal. I was sitting in the front of a van with Jason, hands clenched in my lap. Everyone in Jason's squad was riding in this one, while Reyna's squad had a different one and so on. For some reason, my thoughts kept wandering to Percy; I wanted to see him. I always felt more stable, less anxious when he was around.

We handed over all our luggage to a few corrupt airport stewards that we'd paid off and waited while they moved it all into the hold of the plane. Silence hung heavy among us—even Cupid didn't have much to say. Our minds were all occupied by apprehension of what would happen tomorrow. We'd planned to the fullest extent possible, but there were still a lot of things that could go wrong.

Percy waited beside me, his bottle-green eyes reflecting the grey, cloudy sky. The black, fitted uniform he wore suited him well. In it, he looked dangerous. I could see what Reyna meant when she said I should be wary of him, but…to me, I'd always remember how vulnerable he looked bleeding from a dozen different wounds on my hideout's couch after I saved him from interrogation. It was hard to fear him when I'd seen so much of what he was like already. I had to believe that his intentions were genuine—just as he had to believe that mine were, too. I still wasn't sure how to define whatever it was that hung between us, but I didn't want to lose it. Not just yet.

"You good, Annabeth?" Percy nudged me, wrenching me out of my train of thought. His voice was a rasp. God, I wanted him to stop smoking.

"Yeah." I offered him a placating smile. "Fine." I turned to him, mouth opening to say something more, but Percy had already moved his gaze back to the plane. He stared at it with a mix of contempt and unease. Huh. "You don't like flying?" I asked.

He shook his head slowly. "Just don't trust planes. It goes so high up, and there's nothing but air beneath you..." He trailed off.

"Heights aren't your thing?"

Percy looked at me, then. His expression was unreadable. "Not heights, exactly. Just flying."

"You must've flown a lot, with your mum. Didn't you travel all over, when you were on the run?"

Percy laughed. "Yeah—and it never got easier. I remember when I was about eleven my mum had to literally drag me onto the plane to London 'cause I was causing a massive scene in the airport. She threatened me with all sorts of things, but she never meant any of it. She loved me too much."

At that, I imagined a young, shaggy-haired Percy Jackson kicking up a tantrum. I couldn't hold back a grin. "Bet you were a cute kid."

Percy rolled his eyes. "Sure." We smiled at each other, and I realised I'd missed this. Talking, poking fun at each other. It felt like we never had time to anymore.

The flight to Portugal was less than two hours. For almost all of it, Percy was a pale, fearful mess. He kept glancing at the window like he was worried that something was going to swoop in, and every time I laughed at him for it he'd shoot me an irritated look. I pulled a book out, opening it to my place. It was _The Forever War_ by Joe Halderman, a military science fiction novel. I let myself sink into the familiar yet otherworldly setting for a while, just to pass the time.

When we arrived, it was late evening. Our group split into two—some headed into the capital to prepare for the raid on Wyatt's mansion, and the rest of us drove to a specific hotel in Cascais that Jason had assured us wouldn't bat an eyelid at our surplus of less-than-legal equipment. We all piled into our rooms, with each separate squad rooming together, excluding their superiors.

I got a room to myself, but I almost wouldn't have minded having company. I organised some of my stuff into cupboards just for something to do, then got into bed to look over some reports Sir had given me. I probably should've tried to go straight to sleep so I could feel somewhat rested tomorrow, but recently my insomnia had been rearing its ugly head again. In the unlikely case I had managed to drift off, it would've been in fits and starts.

By the time I finished going over the reports, it was past one 'o' clock. I could no longer hear any chatter from the rooms adjacent mine; most of the other recruits must have surrendered to sleep. Letting out a fatigued sigh, I went to change into a comfortable oversized shirt and shorts to sleep in. The sheets of my bed were smooth and comfortable as I climbed under the covers. I opened my laptop, clicking on Netflix. I was on season eight of American Horror Story, and maybe that wasn't the wisest show to watch right now but my brain was too jaded to care. As the second episode started playing, I allowed my mind to shut off and eventually lost myself in the gruesome storyline.

I'd finished the episode and started another one when I heard a gentle knock on my door. Then, a quiet, familiar voice: "Annabeth?"

I quickly paused Netflix and got out of bed to get the door. When I opened it, I was greeted by the soft, rumpled sight of Percy wearing pyjamas and a warm, hesitant smile. I struggled to speak for a moment, then managed, "Alright?"

Percy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, burying his hands deep into the pockets of his joggers. His red, ragged hair was a mess, and he looked way more vulnerable than I'd ever seen him. "Uh...Sorry if I'm disturbing you. I just couldn't sleep, and thought maybe..." He scoffed. "I can go—"

In alarm, I reached out a hand. "Wait! No, it's fine. You're not disturbing me." I opened the door a little more, trying not to think too hard about the state Percy was currently seeing me in: frizzy hair and an oversized, coffee-stained shirt. I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Come in. I'm just watching Netflix."

Percy followed me in, footsteps light. I sat down on my bed, folding my legs beneath me. I moved the laptop screen over so he could watch too, if he wanted. Percy sat down haltingly beside me, crossing his legs. "So, what are we watching?" He smelled like salt and the hotel's body wash.

"Just American Horror Story."

"Oh, cool."

"It's not for the faint of heart," I warned. "We can watch something different, if you want…?"

Percy laughed. "I think it'll be fine. If I end up feeling like I'm gonna faint, we can switch to some outdated rom-com."

I wrinkled my nose. "Uh, no. Rom-coms aren't really my thing."

Percy raised a brow. "Let me guess—you're only into academic documentaries."

Rolling my eyes, I dragged my laptop closer to me and clicked off American Horror Story. "My taste in movies is impeccable, actually." I scrolled down Netflix, squinting into the glaring screen. Maybe it was a stupid point to prove, but... "Okay, this one. I'm about to show you one of the best movies I've ever watched."

Percy looked skeptical as he leaned forward to read the title. A lock of his red hair fell over his eyes, and he pushed it back impatiently. " _Girl Interrupted?_ What's it about?"

I smiled and pressed play. "You'll see."

Forty-five minutes later, Percy and I were sprawled over the bed, utterly absorbed in the movie. "God, this is so fucked," Percy muttered.

We'd reached the bit where Susanna was draped in the pale bath-tub, yelling at Valerie for trying to convince her she wasn't insane. " _Then what's wrong with me, huh?"_ Susanna was spitting out. " _What the fuck is going on inside? Tell me, Dr Val, what's your diag-nonsense?"_

"I know it is," I replied. "That's kinda the point."

Percy's chin was propped up on his fist, and his green eyes were glued to the screen. "I take it back. Your movie taste is fine."

I grinned, feeling smugly satisfied. "We haven't even got to the good bit yet."

The next hour was a blur of witty remarks from Percy and a few tears shed from both of us. When the movie finally ended, I was left with a strange sense of empty nostalgia and quiet desolation as I always was after watching _Girl, Interrupted_. Percy and I were a tangle of limbs, our skin cold atop the covers. "That was so good," Percy mumbled. His face looked ghoulish in the dark, but no less beautiful. "I feel fucking drained, though. Wasn't it based on real-life events?"

"On the original author's experiences in a mental hospital, yeah," I replied. I propped myself up on my elbows and gazed down at Percy. He stared back at me. We were quiet for a few moments, then both burst into giggles.

I shoved my palm into his face, pushing him away, body still racked with laughter. "God, you're annoying."

Percy slapped my hand away. "What did I do?" he protested, mouth split in a grin.

I flopped down onto the bed next to him, staring up into the dark ceiling. "'I'm worried about tomorrow," I said softly. I tilted my head so I could see Percy.

He was already looking at me. "It'll be fine," he assured me. "You planned everything perfectly."

I let out a frustrated noise. "Yeah, but we both know Cupid's squad is gonna do everything they can to fuck it up."

Percy sighed. The dim light cast by my laptop rippled over him, pooling like shadow on his collarbones and the high points of his face. "I'll do everything I can not to let them. I promised Jason."

Silence hung heavy over us. I turned on to my side, curling in a crescent towards Percy. "Let's not think about that right now," I said.

Percy's mouth tugged into a reticent smile. "You're right." Gently, he reached up and laced our fingers together against the sheet, releasing a breath. His palm was warm against mine, and his crooked, scarred fingers held a comfortable familiarity. Time flowed into itself. We fell asleep, our chests rising and falling in sync.

* * *

The next day was a blur of preparation, team meetings in our hotel rooms and intrepid glances from Percy. The evening arrived placidly, without even a whisper of the violence that I knew was soon to come.

The clock read 6:00. I stood alone in my dorm, pulling on the dress I'd brought to wear to the yacht party. It was a muted, deep blue, and the material was smooth like satin. I favoured it for missions because the slit up the right leg made it easy to run in. I fastened an understated silver necklace around my neck and pressed a pair of glittery studs into my earlobes. I'd already done my hair up in a bun and secured it with hair spray, and I'd applied some dark eyeshadow and mascara to tie the illusion together. With any luck, I'd hardly be noticeable among the crowd. Most importantly, though, I strapped a sheath onto my left upper thigh, sliding in a sharp knife.

I left my hotel room and locked it behind me, tucking the key into the bag hanging at my hip. A pistol was sewn into its seams, which I could easily rip out if I needed cover fire. I headed downstairs, heels clacking on the ground. They were barely an inch high, which was helpful as I wasn't in any danger of breaking my ankles. As I pushed open the door to the lobby, I saw Jason, Reyna and Cupid briefing a group of recruits.

Reyna was dressed up like me—she was wearing a sleek, rosy bodycon dress—but Jason and Cupid weren't. Both of them were wearing their usual black mission attire and looked to be already fully equipped with firearms. This was because their squads were heading into the yacht using a back entrance; a couple of our reconnaissance agents had managed to infiltrate Wyatt's security team, and they were going to create a surveillance vacuum so Jason, Cupid and their subordinates could slip in unnoticed. Jason and Cupid's job was to devise an exit route, while Reyna's team and I had to apprehend Wade Wyatt and a few of his lackeys who'd also antagonised Sir. It was going to be difficult to escort so many hostages out, especially as there was no chance we'd be able to slip away unseen.

I approached the three of them, shoulders back. "Everyone all ready?"

Cupid swivelled to face me, mouth stretching in a serpentine smile. The rings on his fingers glinted in the light. "Oh, Annabeth," he drawled. "You look lovely."

I fought the urge to cross my arms over my exposed chest and instead pierced him with a glare. "Shut the fuck up, Cupid," I shot back. "Keep your focus on the mission and I'm sure we'll get along fine."

Jason turned to me, giving Cupid a sideways dirty look. "Yeah, we're ready. Everyone seems to be dressed and equipped, and we need to be out of here in a couple minutes anyway."

Reyna was finishing off the briefing. "Now, if there's no final questions, you can all head to the vans. Cupid and Grace's squad—you've got the blue one. It's set up with everything you need. My team will take the white." All the recruits dispersed, the mood light but determined. Cupid and Reyna followed them, shouting orders, leaving me alone with Jason.

"Feeling alright?" I asked.

Jason set his jaw. "Yeah. It's a good plan, we just need to pull it off."

"And we will." I offered him an encouraging smile. "You're a great leader, Jason. Go out there and act like it."

With a laugh, Jason nodded. "I will. But be careful, okay? I don't wanna be the one who has to tell Sir his beloved niece is dead."

I scoffed. _Beloved._ "You won't need to. Just don't let Cupid fuck this up."

Jason clapped me on the shoulder and adjusted his ammo belt. "Thanks for the reassurance, Chase." He walked away to meet everyone at the vans.

I was about to follow him when I felt a gentle hand on my wrist. "Hey, Annabeth."

I spun, face lighting up. "Percy—" I was cut off in the middle of my sentence. Percy was wearing a deep teal, fitted suit with a black shirt and tie underneath. The greenish blue of it matched his eyes in a shocking kind of way. There was a faint dusting of gold shadow on his lids that flattered him more than I cared to admit. Even his hair...he'd put some sort of gel in it, taming its typically messy nature. He was beautiful, ethereal. "You look..." I trailed off, unable to finish.

Percy fidgeted with his sleeve, hesitant. "Is all this overkill? I let Roxanne sort me out 'cause I wasn't sure what to wear." His throat bobbed, his gaze flickering over my form. I felt blushing heat rise to the tips of my ears as he smiled. "You look incredible, Annabeth."

We stood there in silence for a moment, taking one another in. I shook my head, clearing my throat. "Thank you," I said lamely. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah." Percy sighed, checking his watch. It was ratty and old, a stark contrast against the newness of his clothes. "Everything will be over in a few hours."

"It will."

"Hopefully we both get out in one piece."

"We're going to." I smiled. Before I could think better of it, I leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. His skin was warm beneath my lips. When I pulled back, I ached to feel that warmth again.

Percy stuttered out, "Why?" A quiet flame bloomed on his cheekbones.

"For luck," I replied. God, I wished I'd had the balls to give him a real kiss.

* * *

 **hope y'all enjoyed the cute moments between percy and annabeth before shit hits the fan :)** **The chapter after this is long and action-packed and it'll be up next Sunday like normal! don't forget to leave some feedback if you're enjoying this fic xx**


	13. In Silver Lake

**CHAPTER 13: IN SILVER LAKE**

ANNABETH

Our van pulled up on the road next to the harbourside. I pushed open the passenger's door and stepped out—I'd ridden in the front with Reyna. There was still tenseness between us left over from our argument earlier, but there wasn't any time to confront it now.

I could see Wyatt's yacht a couple hundred metres away. It was so huge that it was practically a cruise ship. I didn't need to wonder how the fucker had managed to afford it, not with all the blood money he'd stolen from Sir. It loomed higher than any of the other yachts in the harbour, and the shine of its white exterior reflected a muted gold, due to the setting sun. The sound of the ocean rushing against the stone walls floated through the air, along with a healthy amount of tobacco smoke coming from a wealthy group of teenagers who were chain-smoking on the private boat just beside us. For the dozenth time, I wondered how Percy could like that shit. Still, I supposed that enjoying the taste wasn't really the point.

We walked down to the entrance of Wyatt's yacht, steeling ourselves. Behind me, I could hear Percy and Roxanne talking in low tones. As we approached, the sound of babbling voices and loud music sharpened into focus. At the entrance to the yacht, a dark red carpet unfurled out of the docking area. Two security guards stood by either side of it, one of them holding a list. Neither of them outwardly appeared to be armed, but I knew it'd be foolish to assume they weren't.

Each of us had been assigned the identity of a real partygoer that'd been bribed by Sir into forfeiting their attendance. As we walked up to the entrance, I repeated the name of my individual alias over and over in my head— _Cassandra Sharpe._

Reyna's face morphed into a blinding smile as she greeted the guards. "Hello, how are you two gentlemen doing?"

"Name," one of them said gruffly.

"Reed. Helena Reed," Reyna replied brightly. "This is Cassandra Sharpe."

The security guy scanned his list, ever cynical. At last he seemed to find the names he was looking for and scribbled something on his list. He jerked his head toward the entrance. Reyna and I shared a glance as we headed inside, taking that as our cue to enter. I didn't look back to see if the others had followed us in, instead keeping my head high and certain as though I had every right to be here.

The interior of Wyatt's yacht was even more impressive than the outside. It was huge and cavernous, with a glittering chandelier cascading from the domed ceiling. A small stage stood at one end of this main room, occupied by a female harpist with a curtain of curly auburn hair. Her fingers danced easily across her instrument, a testament to her skill. Dozens of people wearing extravagant, lustrous clothes milled around, clutching glasses of spirits. Before even a few seconds had passed, a server came out of nowhere and offered us both glasses of champagne. Exchanging a glance, we accepted. It couldn't hurt, right? "Thank you," Reyna started, but the server was already gone.

"This place is insane," I mumbled to Reyna. "I can kinda get how Wade Wyatt's evaded us for so long now. With this kind of wealth and influence..." I shook my head. "No wonder Sir wants him dead."

Reyna's eyes darted around the scene as she nodded, taking a sip of her champagne. "I bet this whole event was funded by laundered money." Reyna turned back to me. "We should split up, look for Wyatt. Percy and the others can handle the rest of his affiliates. If you get eyes on him, alert me." She tapped her ear, where her comm set was. "Don't hesitate, alright? We know he's dangerous."

I nodded. A heartbeat later, Reyna disappeared into the crowd. I let my knuckles graze the handle of the thigh sheath hidden beneath my dress, taking comfort in the thought that I could draw it at a moment's notice.

Squaring my jaw, I began to pick my way through the crowd, mingling with the partygoers who seemed to have a kind of gravitational field of influence around them. The ones who wore the most expensive clothes, the most confident smiles. I laughed and talked with them, slipping into the vibrant character of Cassandra Sharpe. Cassandra was flirtatious, provocative. A glimmering prop.

Some of the men let their eyes linger. It was easy to notice the way their gaze savoured my bare shoulders, my plunging neckline. The way they acted was predictable; wealthy men were, of course, entitled to whatever they desired. Everyone knew that. So I let them look. My voice softened amorously when they spoke to me and I leaned closer to them, laughing, when they cracked a joke. Disgust began to simmer slowly in my gut, but I clamped down on it. I had to make them believe I returned their affections.

After around forty-five minutes of this—of learning the names of the people in Wade Wyatt's exclusive circle of influence, of gathering information about his more recent disreputable crimes—I found myself in light conversation with a man by the name of Joe Harrison. He couldn't have been older than thirty, and his hair was a careful mess of gel and silver dye. Usually, I wouldn't have afforded Harrison a second glance, but his name rang a bell; I seemed to remember Sir mentioning him at some point. In fact, I knew he was a member of Wyatt's inner circle. A young one, at that, but his name was slowly gaining more and more traction.

"So, what do you find yourself doing in your spare time?" Harrison was asking me. His voice was faintly British, which had surprised me before I'd remembered that Wyatt had worked in England for a few years. Of course he'd made connections there.

I placed my empty champagne glass on a server's tray as they walked past. "I'm an art connoisseur," I replied. That _was_ actually Cassandra Sharpe's real occupation. "I buy and sell interest in new pieces. All by legitimate means, of course." I half-smiled, hinting that my work was anything but.

A spark entered Harrison's eye. "Oh, of course. That sounds interesting, Miss Sharpe. You'll be surprised, but I have connections in the art industry. My brother's an honoured critic."

I snorted. "He's also estranged, I assume."

Harrison shrugged. "Most of my family is. What about you, Cassandra?"

"What about me?"

"Family. You have any?"

"A twin sister," I answered smoothly. "Her name's Aurelia." This, too, was true to Cassandra's identity. I was thankful I'd taken so much of the time leading up to this operation to go over her records.

Harrison nodded slowly. His eyes were unreadable. I wanted to know what the hell he thought he'd managed to glean from my expression. He raised his wine glass to his lips. A drifting shaft of light caught it, lighting his features up with a crimson tint. Finally, he spoke. "You are an interesting specimen, Miss Sharpe. I don't think you are quite everything you claim to be."

I stifled the panic that clawed at my chest. "Oh, really? And why is that?" I tried to sound confident, but unease bled from my tone anyway.

Harrison smiled. It was a dead, unkind thing. "I'm not certain yet. But I'd like to find out." I tilted my head in a wordless answer. I had to get out of this conversation and find Wyatt—I hadn't heard anything over comms from Reyna yet, meaning she was probably also at a loss. But before I could say my goodbyes to Harrison, he interrupted me. "I'm going to the VIP room to meet an associate. Would you like to join me?"

I opened my mouth to decline, then reconsidered. Wyatt clearly wasn't just hanging out in the public spaces of the yacht party; he was too smart for that. Maybe if I stuck with Harrison, I'd be able to find him. "Alright," I decided. "As long as you buy me an expensive drink."

The VIP room was on the second floor of the yacht. It had a huge, shining glass door that opened outwards onto the deck. There were far fewer people in here, and most were reclining on velvet sofas. The heavy smell of pot was slightly overwhelming, and the room's air was ever so slightly hazy with smoke.

I was holding Harrison's arm as we wound between the dozens of low tables and sofas. I tried not to show how far out of my depth I felt, instead donning Cassandra's friendly yet ever so slightly conceited smile. Harrison spoke to me in low tones, telling me the names and occupations of a few of the men who were enjoying themselves in the room. "That's Zarek Czajka," Harrison murmured into my ear. His breath was hot where he leaned in, and it took a lot of effort to fight the wave of revulsion that crashed through me at the sensation. "He commands Wyatt's bodyguards. Beside him is his mistress, Nadia Sobanska."

My eyes flickered to the woman who was draped across Czajka. She was stunningly beautiful, dark haired and dark eyed. A spliff hung from between two of her nimble fingers. "She must be thirty years younger than him," I mused. "Does his wife know?"

Harrison laughed. "Of course not. And you shouldn't tell her—Zarek would have to kill you."

"I don't doubt that."

It didn't take long before Harrison and I found somewhere to sit, sidling in beside a few of his aforementioned associates. I smiled and laughed and gossiped with them. My senses were slightly blurred by the whiskey I was sipping, but not so much that I wasn't still alert.

Suddenly, my gaze snagged on a face across the room. A man, sitting amongst a group of other partygoers and playing a hand of poker. _Wade Wyatt._ His severe jaw and pale eyes were noticeable even from a dozen metres away—I could tell it was him instantly. He looked a little drunk, judging by the way he slapped his cards down crazedly when he came up with a run and slurred his loud shouts. At least it'd be easier to get him alone now.

I stood up, adjusting my dress. Harrison glanced up to me as I did so. "You off to get another drink?"

"Yeah, I'll be back in a moment," I assured him, grateful for the easy excuse. Harrison nodded and turned back to his conversation.

I walked away, tapping my earpiece. "I have eyes on Wyatt," I murmured.

A second later I received a reply from Reyna. " _Great! Jackson and the others have already apprehended Santoro. He's bound and gagged. No one's noticed his disappearance yet._ _Where are you?_ "

"VIP room," I answered, reaching a hand up to fix my hair. "I'm going to try and get him alone."

" _Wait! Annabeth—_ "

"Can't talk right now." As I approached Wyatt's table, I reapplied my lipstick and checked my reflection in the glass door as I walked by. I once again slipped into the armour of confident, desirable Cassandra Sharpe. Nerves threatened to surface, but I buried them under my mask. They wouldn't help me face Wyatt.

I slowly sidled up to the table, flashing a dazzling smile. "Hello, boys."

* * *

PERCY

"Shut the fuck up," I gritted out, chokehold tightening around the man's neck. His face was chalk-white, ashen. Ripe fear was apparent in his dirt-green eyes. Lucas Santoro—Wyatt's right-hand man. It hadn't been all too difficult for me and Roxanne to apprehend him. Now, he sat bound and gagged at our feet in a dark, empty corridor. It probably wouldn't be too long before someone noticed he was missing, so hopefully the others would manage to capture the other two targets without any delay. Of course, Annabeth and Reyna still had to assassinate Wyatt, but I had every faith in them. I was mostly worried about Jason and Cupid's squads being able to secure us a reliable exit—that was, if Cupid didn't sabotage our escape intentionally.

Roxanne was pacing the corridor, knuckles white on her dagger. The sharp, dangerous weapon was a strange contrast against her silk party dress, but I supposed I probably looked no less weird holding a man hostage in a suit. "God, I hate waiting," Roxanne was mumbling.

I leaned against the wall. "It won't be long now. Be patient. I'm sure we'll receive more instructions any minute now."

Roxanne let out a groan. She checked her watch, then checked it again. "Someone's gonna notice Santoro's missing any minute now," she mumbled.

"I know, I know. But all we can do is wait."

Suddenly, the comm at my ear crackled into life. It was Reyna. " _Jackson. Where are you and Roxanne?_ "

"Safe. We're waiting in a deserted hallway."

" _I'm with Annabeth. She was with Wyatt, trying to assassinate him…"_ Reyna's voice faded into static for a moment due to the poor connection, but then sharpened back into focus. " _…been stabbed. She's losing blood. Wyatt's gotten away. You need to find him…"_

"Wait, what? Reyna!" My comm set went silent. The connection was gone completely. Frustration pooled in my fingertips. "Annabeth's been stabbed? Reyna!"

Roxanne was looking at me. "Percy, what's going on?"

"I think Wyatt stabbed Annabeth. Reyna's with her right now. God, what do we do? What do we do?" I felt manic. The idea of losing Annabeth was suffocating the rest of my thoughts.

Roxanne grabbed my wrist, a stabilising presence. "Percy, calm down. We're gonna have to handle Wyatt ourselves. Did Reyna say where she and Annabeth are?"

I shook my head. "No, the connection went."

She muttered a curse. "Great. Okay, I'm going to take Santoro and try to contact Grace and Cupid to see if they've worked out an escape route yet. You need to try and find Wyatt, okay? But don't engage him. Wait for backup from the rest of our squad."

I was angry and afraid. Still, I had to remain calm; I was no use to the operation if I was in a frenzy. "Okay. Yeah," I replied. "You need to find Annabeth and Reyna, too. Help them, yeah?"

Roxanne's brow furrowed. "I'll try." She hoisted Santoro up to his feet, pressing her dagger to his side. "Give me any trouble and I'll use this, alright?" she hissed into his ear. "Good luck, Percy," she called back to me.

"I'm gonna need it," I muttered.

When I walked back out into the main party, it felt like my senses were on alert. The music sounded crisper. The colours seemed brighter. I adjusted my left cufflink, eyes scanning the scene for any sight of Wyatt.

The partygoers dancing around me seemed to have become drunker and drunker as the evening progressed. It made navigating the crowd more difficult as I had to kind of elbow my way through. Around the perimeter of the room, I could see that security was more concentrated than before. Now, they seemed to be more vigilant. No doubt that was due to Annabeth's attempt on Wyatt's life. I picked up a glass of spirit from a passing waiter's tray in an attempt to blend in more and slowed down my walk so I looked a little intoxicated—just like the rest of the guests.

I looked around all the lower rooms of the party, hoping to glimpse Wyatt. Eventually, I saw him. He was standing in front of a door that led into a corridor, a sleek silver phone raised to his ear. As I got closer to him, I noticed that the sleeve of his white shirt was soaked a deep, crimson red. It didn't take a genius to work out whose blood that was; I wanted to kill him. Hell, I was going to. Into my comm set, I muttered, "I've found Wyatt. What should I do?"

A few seconds later, I heard Reyna answer, " _Don't lose him. Annabeth and I are heading towards the brig—Jason and Cupid have worked out an escape route. Once Annabeth's safe, I'll come and help you. Just don't fucking engage, Jackson._ "

"Okay, ma'am." I let my hand fall away from my comm set. It looked like Wyatt had just finished talking on the phone, as he slipped it back into his pocket. He turned and opened the door behind him, walking through it. Fuck. I had to follow him, right?

I waited until thirty seconds had passed, then slipped through the door after Wyatt, ensuring no one saw me go in. I emerged into a corridor and watched as Wyatt disappeared down the end of it. I drew my gun, holding it inside my jacket so it was still concealed.

I followed Wyatt around twisting corridors and up a flight of stairs. Adrenaline seeped through my veins and my heart was pounding in my ribcage. It didn't look like Reyna was going to arrive any time soon, and there was only so long I could pursue him without getting caught. And he was alone right now...

I sped up, clicking the safety off my handgun. It had a suppressor, thank God.

Wyatt had reached a set of double doors. A sign above them read DECK. He walked through them, his pale hand darting out to push them open. Carefully, I approached the doors. This was my only chance. There was no chance I wouldn't be spotted when I tried to run, but at least we'd have completed the mission then.

I pushed them open, pulling my gun out of my suit jacket. Wyatt was standing out on the utterly deserted deck, phone once again pressed to his ear. He was looking out to sea, facing away from me. Rain was lashing down from the darkening clouds above us—I hadn't realised it'd been going to storm today. Wyatt's mousy hair was sodden and plastered in wet strands to his bowed neck as he talked urgently into his phone. I wasn't going to get a better moment. I raised my gun, aiming it at the back of Wyatt's head. I breathed in, out, then—

I felt the cold barrel of a gun press into my lower back. My heart stuttered. A familiar, female voice echoed into my ear from behind me. "Drop the gun, Percy. If you don't, I'll put a bullet in your spine."

Shock reverberated through me. "Juno?" I whispered. The gun slipped between my fingers seemingly without my control, and I raised my hands in surrender.

A sickly laugh. "That's right. I hoped I'd find you here."

* * *

ANNABETH

I'd been talking to Wade Wyatt for about half an hour now, and I'd already won two rounds of poker. The chips in front of me were slowly stacking up, and the selfish gleam in Wyatt's eyes was growing increasingly sharp. His eyes were greedy for Cassandra, and the other men playing poker didn't seem to mind my presence either. More than once, I caught his gaze tracing my figure.

I surveyed the cards lined up on the middle of the table. I had two aces in my hand and there were two on the table. It'd be hard to beat me. I smiled winningly and pushed half of my stack of chips into the growing pile. "Raise."

Beside me, Wyatt hummed. "Match." He pushed some of his own chips in, matching the amount I'd wagered. "I hope you know what you're doing, Miss Sharpe."

I laughed. It sounded fake to my ears. "Of course I do."

I won that hand, then folded on the one after. Wyatt kept leaning close to me, murmuring things. I had him—hook, line and sinker. I decided to take a chance and stood up, dusting off my dress. "Sorry, I need to go and find my friend," I apologised. "She's waiting."

Wyatt glanced up at me. "Oh, wouldn't you rather stay a while longer?" His eyes were like bleach, corrosive and cruel. I didn't feel guilty at all about the fact I was going to kill him—men like Wade Wyatt were better off dead.

A simpering smile crossed my face. "Well, if you'd like, you could buy me another drink before I go."

I watched as Wyatt read the hidden message I'd laid out for him, and he stood up. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes, gentlemen." If I had anything to do with it, he wouldn't return at all. Wyatt offered me his arm, inclining his head. "Shall we?"

Wyatt and I didn't go and get a drink. Instead, I lead him down a corridor, giggling like a teen. Wyatt's hands wandered, and it was all I could do to fight the compulsion to rip them off my body. _Only a little longer._ I pressed Wyatt against the wall, as though I intended to take things further. Wyatt smiled and leaned into my neck. He didn't press a kiss there, instead moved his mouth to my ear. "You are quite something, aren't you, Cassandra?"

My laugh was heady and false. "I could say the same about you." The words tasted foul on my tongue.

Carefully, I moved my hand to the hidden knife sheathed at my thigh, intending to draw it and incapacitate Wyatt, but he grabbed my wrist. "Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast." I tried to shake his grip on my hand, but it was like iron. Without warning, Wyatt spun us around and shoved me brutally into the wall. Winded, I attempted to speak but couldn't. "You thought I wouldn't recognise a familiar face?" Wyatt laughed, and it sounded like poison. "You thought you could fucking flirt your way into murdering me? As soon as you walked in, I knew you were Frederick's daughter." He lowered his voice, and it came out a snarl. " _Annabeth Chase._ "

Fear bit at me, but I refused to surrender to it. I planted my knee hard in his balls, making him double over. I quickly drew my knife, but I wasn't quite fast enough.

Wyatt wrestled it from my grasp and, without hesitation, plunged it into my side. Agony exploded in my gut. I cried out, hands flying to the gaping wound as blood seeped from it and onto my palms. My vision began to blur. "Something tells me you're not the only assassin here, that right?"

My reply was choked with pain. "It's just me. It's just me, I swear."

Wyatt grabbed my throat and squeezed, closing my airways. "Now, why don't I believe you?" All I managed to grit out was a choked gasp. I was going to die. The wound in my gut was oozing blood faster with each passing second and rescue was nothing but a pale hope on the horizon. Disgusted, Wyatt let go of my neck and I crumpled to my knees, seeing stars.

Wyatt slid a phone out of his pocket and called someone, holding the phone to his ear. As he walked away, his voice faded into nothing along with the rest of the world around me.

* * *

PERCY

Ahead of me, Wyatt turned around. A sickly smile crawled across his face. His glasses glinted grey in the light as he slid his cell phone back into his pocket. "Well done, Juno," he breathed. He approached me but stopped about a metre away. "I've heard about you," he said. "Gabe Ugliano's disgraced step-son. They say you've evaded his clutches for years."

"Yeah, and I'm not about to wander into them now," I shot back.

Wyatt tried to walk closer, but I spat at his feet. He laughed. "You've got fire. It's refreshing to see that you haven't yet let those flames go out."

I had to get out of here. I could do it, if I just got a hold of Juno's gun that was pressed against my back. "Why are you here?" I asked her. As far as I knew, Wade Wyatt had never had any connections with my stepfather or her in the past. Then again, I hadn't been in the loop for a while.

Juno chuckled. "I've been looking for you for a long time, Percy. Imagine my surprise when I heard you might be here, along with the rest of Chase's lot. I was going to send someone, but then I decided I just had to see for myself. See if the elusive Percy Jackson might finally show his face."

My hands were shaking where I held them in the air. The last time I'd seen Juno, it'd been in an interrogation room, and I couldn't get that painful memory out of my head. "I'm glad I didn't disappoint," I gritted out.

"Well, Juno," Wyatt said. "You may do what you wish with this little would-be assassin. I have business to attend to." As Wyatt walked past us, I steeled every nerve in my body. I had to act now. Without hesitation, I spun around and jabbed my elbow into Juno's gut, winding her. The gun went off, sparking against the concrete deck floor, and Juno punched me in the jaw. Ignoring the flare of bruising pain, I ducked her next blow and wrestled the gun from her hand. I clocked her in the mouth with the gun's metal barrel and stepped past her, training the gun on Wyatt.

This time, I didn't allow myself to think before I fired. _Bang—_ Juno's gun didn't have a went down with a thump, face contorted with pain. Crimson, spurting blood seared itself onto my vision as I turned and lashed out at Juno, aiming a hard, bone-shattering kick at her leg. She cried out, falling to one knee. I levelled the gun at her, trying to stop the tremor in my hands.

Juno laughed, cruelty dripping from the sound. "You wouldn't dare, Jackson. I practically fucking raised you, didn't I?"

I got a good look at her face, then. Juno's onyx eyes were dark with anger and fear, and her teeth were stained with blood. She looked like a cornered animal. I didn't afford her any more words; she didn't deserve it. I lowered the gun and shot her in the knee, blocking out her stuttering scream from my ears.

Some small, fractured part of me had wanted to put the bullet in her head, but I was content that she'd never walk right again.

I left Juno there. As she bled out, blood swirled slowly into the rainwater pooling on the deck. She wasn't going to die, but I still kind of hoped she would. The sound of shouting as Wyatt's murder was discovered echoed around me as I sprinted down the stairwells leading towards the brig. Reyna had said that was where the exit was. My grip was tight on Juno's gun where it rested in my hand—if they found me, I would almost definitely have to shoot my way out.

As I ran, I reached up to tap my earpiece. "Wyatt's dead," I panted. "What's the status of Santoro and Bailey?"

It wasn't long before I received a reply—Roxanne's voice crackled in my ear. "Both are caught and have already been removed from the yacht. Percy, you need to be quick. We're gonna have to block the exit behind us soon so they can't follow."

At that, I picked up speed. If my exit route was cut off...I didn't want to think about the consequences of my capture. There was no way I wouldn't be handed back over to my stepfather.

It wasn't long before I made it to the hallway leading to the brig. My eyes snagged on Jason—he was talking animatedly to a bunch of recruits, spitting out orders. Roxanne stood there too, arms folded. I jogged over to them, lungs aching with exertion.

Jason turned to me. "Jackson! Well done for killing Wyatt, you saved our asses. We weren't sure if we'd have to just ditch the mission. Head to the brig, yeah? We're waiting for Reyna and Annabeth."

My heart climbed into my throat. "They're not here yet?"

Roxanne's mouth slid into a grim line as she shook her head. "No. They're moving pretty slow 'cause Annabeth's injured. They're still coming down Stairwell B."

"And you sent no one to _help them?"_

Jason looked pained. _"_ They know we're here, Percy. We can't risk anyone else."

I laughed in disbelief. "Screw that—I'm going. Roxanne, you coming?"

Roxanne drew her gun. "Of course. You're not going alone." To Grace, she said, "We'll be quick. Take your squad and get out."

Jason hesitated. "Alright. You better not fucking die, understand? I'll never hear the end of it." With that, he left with the rest of his squad. The door to the brig clanged shut behind them.

Roxanne and I took off, checking around every corner before we carried on. Luckily, I'd passed through Stairwell B on my way down, so I knew where it was. Every so often, we'd hear the voices of Wyatt's security walking around, searching for us. I checked my watch; it was twelve-thirty. The party would be only just reaching its peak above us. I doubted any of the partygoers even knew Wade Wyatt was dead. They just continued to become more and more intoxicated, oblivious.

As Roxanne and I came to the edge of a hallway, I stopped suddenly.

Roxanne bumped into me. "What the hell—" she started.

"Shut up," I hissed. I could hear people talking around the corner. "Wait." I peered around the corner, then quickly retracted my head. "Shit. Shit." There were three armed guards standing a few metres away. Clearly, they were lying in wait for Wyatt's murderer. "There's three," I murmured to Roxanne.

She paled. Quietly, she drew two small throwing knives from the folds of her dress. "You handle the other one," she whispered to me.

I flicked the safety off Juno's gun in answer. "On my signal, yeah?" I mouthed _three, two, one_ and then nodded.

We whirled out from behind the wall, startling the guards. Before they could even raise their guns, Roxanne's knives were embedded in two of their necks and I'd shot the third between the eyes. The sound from my gun was jarring. I wished, not for the first time, that I had another suppressor.

Roxanne muttered, "Ew," as we picked our way around the bodies. I could empathise with her—no matter how many times I witnessed death, I'd never get used to it. We picked up the pace again. Only a little further and we'd reach Annabeth.

We made it to the bottom of Stairwell B. I pushed open the door and let out a gasp of relief. "Thank God." Stumbling down the stairs above us were Annabeth and Reyna. Reyna's arm was under Annabeth's shoulders, supporting her, and Annabeth's waist had been messily bandaged up with gauze. Blood had already seeped through the white fabric.

Immediately, I slipped my gun back into my suit jacket and ran up the stairs. "Annabeth! Reyna!" I slid my arm under Annabeth's shoulders on her other side.

"Thanks for coming back for us," Reyna panted.

"Why wouldn't we?" Beside me, Annabeth's forehead was slick with sweat. She looked feverish and her eyes kept flickering open and closed, like she was fading in and out of consciousness. I kissed her on her hair, murmuring, "Hang in there, Chase."

Reyna and I could move Annabeth much faster now. Ahead of us, Roxanne checked the doors and hallways for any more guards as we approached. She signalled when the coast was clear and raised a hand when it wasn't. If not for Roxanne, we probably wouldn't have made it; she dealt with security quickly and brutally before they could cause us any trouble.

When we passed the dead guards that Roxanne and I had killed earlier, Reyna winced. "I wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of you two."

Eventually, we made it back to the brig. The hallway was deserted; hopefully, everyone had made it out by now. Annabeth's breath was slowing, which terrified me. Once we made it back to the vans, she'd be able to receive a blood transfusion, but until then...

The door to the brig was in sight, but someone was standing at the entrance. We padded to a stop as realisation crashed over me. The person was facing away from us, but their gelled black hair and fingers adorned with a dozen silver rings were unmistakable. "Cupid," I gritted out.

At that, he turned around, lips pulling into a snake-like smile. "Jackson. I've been waiting for you." His gaze flickered to Annabeth and he pouted. "Oh, no. Is poor Annie injured?"

Reyna stepped forward, leaving Annabeth's weight to me. She drew her knife. "Let us through, Cupid. Or would you prefer a knife in your manhood?"

Cupid laughed at that. "Cool it, Ramirez. Jackson's already ruined everything. I almost fucked things up for Grace, but I didn't anticipate that Jackson and his goddamn hero complex would risk his pathetic life to kill Wyatt anyway. Still, at least Chase knocked herself off the chessboard for me."

Roxanne ground her teeth. "You tipped off Wade Wyatt. You let him know we were coming."

Everything slid into place. "That was how Juno knew I'd be here! God, I should've known you of all people would sink this low."

Cupid grinned, teeth bared. He raised his bundled fist and with a stabbing shock I realised what he was holding: a frag grenade. Its pin glistened in the ghostly light. I was frozen in place, scenarios of the immediate future whistling through my head like a gale.

All I could do was tighten my arm around Annabeth as time slowed down around us—but thank Christ, Roxanne was already moving. Her black, corkscrew-curling hair billowed out behind her as she sprinted toward Cupid. I heard a _ping_ as Cupid dropped the grenade's metal pin on the floor. As he raised his arm to throw the grenade towards us, Roxanne ploughed into him, knocking them both to the floor. Reyna shouted something as Roxanne wrestled the grenade from Cupid and curled herself into a ball around it.

It went off.

* * *

 **I lowkey cried writing that last part but it was mostly cause I was listening to a really sad playlist lmao. T** **hanks for reading! I'd love to hear your feedback :)** **next chapter will be up on Sunday as usual.**


	14. What We Envisaged

**CHAPTER 14: WHAT WE ENVISAGED**

PERCY

Everything after that passed in a haze of anger and grief. I didn't even realise how much blood there was on my palms from trying to take Roxanne's corpse with us until I was sitting, silent and shell-shocked, in a med van on the way back to the hotel. Annabeth was hooked up to an IV, eyes closed and her face almost entirely ashen. Salty tears pooled in my waterline and my knuckles were white from holding her hand too hard. The last few moments of Roxanne's life replayed a hundred times in the focal point of my vision. _I could have saved her. Couldn't I?_

What was I going to say to Piper? The news would break her. She'd hate me forever—that is, if she didn't already. I resolved to get her out of the base as soon as I fucking could, no matter what Sir said. It was too late for me to leave, but it definitely wasn't too late for her.

When we arrived at the hotel, my head was a mess of half-thoughts and ugly guilt. My body was numb as I helped lift Annabeth's stretcher and took her to her room, laying her down on the bed. With the portable IV next to her and the several medics bustling about, tending to her wound, it was almost like I was waiting in a hospital. The urge to throw up overtook me and I had to leave the room to catch my breath. The hallway was cold. I absently traced the goose bumps on my skin, wishing I had the presence of mind to go and wash the blood off my hands.

Annabeth finally woke up a few hours later. I hadn't realised how terrified I had been to lose her until I nearly had. I hugged her so hard that I almost squeezed the life out of her again, cry-laughing in relief. Reyna and Jason visited her, too. While Jason spoke in soft tones to Annabeth, Reyna pulled me aside and thanked me for saving her own and Annabeth's life. "I'm sorry about Roxanne," she muttered. "I know she was your friend."

I barely had the strength to nod in admission.

Flying back to Paris was a fever dream. I stared out the window, too tired to even be afraid like usual. It seemed like seconds between when we took off and when we walked back into the base, bags slung over our shoulders. Strangely, I'd been talking to Reyna much more than usual. I think her seeing in the flesh that I was willing to risk my life for Annabeth had changed her perception of me. Now, it seemed almost like we were friends.

Jason, however, disappeared almost immediately to give his in-person report to Sir. I expected he was in for a tongue-lashing, despite the fact that his operation had been successful. Sir probably wasn't going to be particularly pleased about the fact Cupid, one of his best officers, was hospitalised—no matter that it had been of Cupid's own making.

I couldn't have dredged up a single ounce of sympathy for that murderer even if I tried.

The following month was one of the most draining months of my life I'd ever had to endure. Once I bargained for Piper's release, she cut me off completely. I didn't blame her—after I'd told her about Roxanne, she'd fallen into grief and had refused to let me help her out of it. Even Annabeth had stopped talking to me so much. I think she felt guilty that she believed she'd had a hand in letting my old life come crashing down around me. I wished I could make her understand that she was a safe haven in my life, not a place of danger.

Sir began to conscript me on mission after mission. He seemed pleased that I'd been the one to assassinate Wyatt, and constantly teased the idea of a higher rank before me. _You could lead a squad. You could have power here._ To be honest, the concept of having power had never been appealing to me. Still, I supposed any control I could have over my train-wreck of a life was better than none.

I threw myself into training with Reyna, taking comfort in the cold press of a shotgun against my shoulder and the familiar feel of a knife handle in my palm. I spent a lot of time with Rachel, both in training and when we smoked in the disused hallways. I learnt more about her life, about the girlfriend she'd left behind when she moved from the Marseilles branch. One particular thing she'd said stuck out to me. "The farther I go through life, the more I wonder if affection wasn't meant for me," she'd murmured, accent rich and full around the French words.

I could empathise with the sentiment, but I had to believe that I still had that capacity for love. Having Annabeth close to me had helped, for a while. I supposed that was why her absence stung more than I could've imagined; I missed the hope she gave me. I missed the way she laughed. I missed _her._

One night, I was sitting in Lou Ellen's dorm with Rachel, Jason and Reyna. Half-eaten take-away pizzas surrounded us, and we were all a little drunk off the red wine Rachel had brought up from the rec room. A messy game of Risk was laid out on the floor—my blue pieces pretty much dominated the board. I'd already wiped out Lou Ellen and Jason, but Reyna was a serious threat to my livelihood.

Reyna rolled the attack dice. Three sixes. I groaned as I rolled for defence, knowing it was all for nought. "Fuck. I hate you."

A smirk tugged at Reyna's lips. "Ha! Europe will be mine."

She pushed a few of her red armies into the territory she'd just taken as I flopped dramatically back into Rachel's lap. "You'd never betray me like that, would you, Dare?" I mumbled. My head was swimming slightly from the alcohol I'd consumed.

Rachel smiled down at me as she ruffled my hair. "I would. You're too trusting."

Jason flipped me off where he was lying on the bed. "I have no idea why you're complaining, Percy—you have three continents. Look at _me_. I'm dead."

"Yeah, and whose fault is that?" I fumbled for the bottle of wine by Rachel's leg to have another drink.

Rachel grabbed it before I could, eliciting a protest from me. "Absolutely not. We have training tomorrow. _Vous allez le regretter._ "

Reyna drew a Risk card. " _Early_ training, actually. I expect to see you both there at five 'o' clock sharp."

I groaned again, draping my forearms over my eyes to block out the world. "Sadist," I accused. Suddenly, my burner phone buzzed in my pocket. I slid it out, holding it over my face to read the message.

Ignoring the resultant vertigo, I quickly sat up. _Message from McLean_. I clicked on it, my breath almost solid in my throat.

"Who is it?" Jason asked.

I held up a finger, quieting him. My eyes scanned the message. _P_ _ercy, can we talk? I'm in the rehab centre just outside Versailles. I checked myself in last weekend. I'm sorry for ghosting you. Roxanne wasn't your fault._ Then, a few seconds later: _Call me._

I stood up, already dialling Piper's number. "I'll be a minute," I said to the others. Raising the phone to my ear, I stepped outside of the dorm. My phone rang twice before the call connected with a click. I hesitated. " _Salut_?"

" _Percy_?"

Hearing Piper's voice was such a relief that I could've sobbed. "Piper, you okay? You said you're in rehab? I haven't heard from you in..." I trailed off.

" _I know, I know. I'm sorry, I just...hated you a bit. I needed time to process._ " Piper's sigh sounded like static through my phone's crappy speaker. Piper switched to French, presumably to voice her thoughts more easily. " _Without Roxanne, everything just kinda went to shit. I moved back to her apartment, but I couldn't be alone without using. I'm at rehab now. It was shit at the start, but it's helping a little."_

A lump formed in my throat. I changed to French as well, taking refuge in a different language. "You have every right to hate me," I said. "I should've been there for you. All this is my fault—"

" _No. No. God, don't think that!_ " A pause. " _I blamed you for Roxanne. I shouldn't have. I'd always known about her past, about why she moved to Paris. She was reckless—that's just who she was. I should've known I'd lose her eventually._ " Piper sniffed. I realised with a start that she was crying. " _I miss her. I really miss her, Percy._ "

My eyes were hot with tears. I let out a laugh suddenly, trying not to cry. When I spoke, my voice sounded hoarse. "I know. I miss her as well." I shook my head. "I miss you, too, Pipes. Please forgive me. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."

" _There's nothing to forgive._ " Piper went silent for a moment. I leant back against the wall, closing my eyes. Then, Piper asked, " _Can you come visit me? On Saturday. Hours are open then._ "

I nodded, before realising she couldn't actually see me. "Yes. I will. I'll be there." I wiped my eyes. "Can we please stop hurting each other like this? We used to be so good. Can it be like that again?"

" _I hope so_ ," she answered quietly. " _I'll see you Saturday._ "

"Okay. Love you."

I could practically hear Piper smiling over the phone. " _Love you too, you goddamn idiot._ " She hung up.

* * *

The next day, I asked Reyna for a day of personal leave. "Tell Sir it's for squad business or something," I pleaded. She assented, and so early Saturday morning I found myself on the train to Versailles. I had to admit, it was nice to have a day where I didn't have any responsibilities. I gazed out the train window, watching the light reflect on the glass in dancing shapes and at the rain-sodden French country outside. A book was open on the table in front of me. It was called _The Rose Society,_ and was the second novel in a series Annabeth had recommended. I wasn't really much of a reader, but I'd been picking up some of her recommendations every so often. Mostly because I missed her—though I was loath to admit that to myself.

When I reached the rehabilitation centre, they made me sign in and searched me for narcotics. Then, a nurse led me through the building and out to the door to the courtyard. The place was nicer than I'd been expecting, which was reassuring. I felt better knowing my best friend wasn't living in some shithole.

I walked out into the day, closing the door behind me. Though it was bright outside, winter had never been more bitter. Frost crunched beneath my shoes as I walked across the icy grass. I wished I'd thought to bring a warmer jacket.

Piper sat at one of the benches. She stared into nothing, cigarette poised on the way to her mouth. Black fingerless gloves revealed the mottled yellow of her fingertips, similar to mine—a byproduct of nicotine addiction. Piper and I were worlds apart, but in this we matched.

I sat down beside her, tucking my hands between my legs for warmth. For a few moments I watched a flurry of starlings behind the centre's wrought-iron railings. They fluttered around each other, flitting in and out of the trees beyond the fence. Piper's eyes were blank and unfocused as she brought the cigarette to her lips and inhaled, releasing the smoke out of the corner of her mouth so it wouldn't blow my way. "What're you doing out here?" I asked.

Her reply was absent. "Self-medicating." She sounded far less present than she had on the call. I supposed withdrawal probably left her in varying states of shittiness, and right now I'd caught her at a particularly bad moment.

I reached into my jacket and took out a cigarette, reaching out for Piper's baby pink lighter that she'd left lying on the table. I lit it, sliding it between my lips. "Piper," I said.

At that, her hollow gaze flickered to me. "Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

Piper didn't reply, at first. Instead, she finished her cigarette and pressed the burned-out filter against the table, squashing the hot ashes from it. "Not really," she admitted. "I'm glad you came. I wasn't sure you would."

I scoffed. "Why wouldn't I come? I care about you. I promised."

Piper shook her head. "I know—obviously you were coming." A dry, self-deprecating laugh echoed from her throat. "I was stupid to think that."

"You were," I answered. Then, in a quieter tone: "Are you okay? Being here?"

Piper drew her knees up into her chest, lacing her gloved hands around her calves. "Yeah, I think so. It's easier than out there, anyway." She jerked her chin towards the railings, the simple action encompassing the whole world beyond.

I understood what she meant. This place probably felt like a microcosm of the cruel outside world to her—a smaller, kinder version of it. I breathed out a bitter cloud of smoke and watched it billow away on the wind. "You know, when you're ready to leave," I said, "I'll be waiting. You'll have ground to stand on. You won't be alone."

Piper smiled softly. "Thank you." She shuffled closer to me on the bench, then rested her head on my shoulder. Her presence felt like something was clicking into place that I hadn't even known was missing. Piper tilted her head to look up at me, her technicolour gaze familiar against my own. "Percy?" Piper said suddenly. Her accent rounded out the vowels of my name in that strange, distinctive way.

"Yeah?"

"Will you tell me about your life? From before?"

I almost laughed. "What, now?"

"No, I mean...later. At some point, I guess." Piper sighed. "I want to know about it. Not because I think I deserve an explanation, or anything, I just..." Piper rubbed her hands over her face, letting out a groan. "I don't want us to keep shit from each other anymore."

I slipped an arm around her, enjoying her warmth. It took me a moment to formulate a reply. "I don't either," I finally said. "And—God, I'm not sure if I can tell you about all of it, but you _do_ deserve an explanation. And I want you to know. You've told me about your life, about your dad. It's only right I return the favour."

We sat there in silence for a while. It was getting colder as the day progressed—the January chill drilled slowly into my bones. Everything about these winter months had been hard, even the weather in Paris. I probably should've been used to it by now, after so many years exposed to the worst of all the seasons on the streets, but I wasn't.

My gaze flickered down to where Piper was snuggled into my side. She looked like hell; crescent moons as dark as ink were stamped under her eyes, a tell-tale sign of a junkie's insomnia. Her skin was slightly pallid, stretched and gaunt over her thin frame. Piper had been through so much. Too much. I hoped that maybe February would be more tender to her, but it was just the month after January.

A song drifted into my head—one Piper and I had learned together. One we'd performed countless times at bars and open-mic nights. I started to hum it, in a detached kind of way. The hoarse notes echoed across the courtyard, a strange juxtaposition.

Piper smiled up at me. "I like that song. You used to play it so well on the piano." She began to sing quietly along with my humming. " _Un an de plus que je me caille..._ " A brutal, aching sort of nostalgia settled over me then. We trailed off, leaving the song unfinished. I no longer knew how to separate our good memories from the mess we'd made of everything, and I realised just how much I missed the days we'd spent together squatting in a tiny, dilapidated attic room because neither of us had any money for rent.

Piper spoke then, gently lifting her head from my shoulder. "Stop thinking so loudly," she mumbled.

The corners of my mouth curved upward. "I'll try."

* * *

As I returned to base, I missed Piper. Still, I knew that my presence in her life wasn't what she needed just yet, and anyway I couldn't leave the base for good so long as I was in Sir's clutches. And, however much I tried to ignore it, I could never leave Annabeth either. I had feelings for her; she'd burrowed her way under the skin near my heart, but there never seemed to be time to talk to her about it. Instead, I found myself replaying the moment when she'd kissed my cheek before the mission over and over in my head, analysing it until it made no sense anymore. She felt something for me, too. I knew she did. But amidst the madness we were both caught up in, there wasn't any time for us to work out whatever it was that was growing between us.

I walked back to the dorms, hands deep in my pockets. I hadn't bothered with going to feeding—my stomach was too restless for food, and I was tired. I unlocked the door to my dorm, pushing it open. I left the light off and fell onto the mattress, heaving a sigh. I stared at the dark ceiling, my mind a mess of swirling thoughts and half-baked emotions. The pain of losing Roxanne was still fresh and searing in my chest, and I had no idea if I was ever going to shake off the cold guilt that had settled deep into the marrow of my bones. I closed my eyes, deciding that I was fine with sleeping in my clothes.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed with a notification. I pulled it out of my pocket, squinting at its bright screen that was almost harsh in the darkness of my dorm.

It was from Annabeth. I opened it, sitting up on my mattress. _Percy, can we talk? I'm up on the roof._

I texted her back. _Now?_

 _Yeah,_ she replied.

 _Okay. I'll see you up there._ I grabbed my jacket and quickly threaded my arms through it, heading for the door. I remembered the way up to the roof from when Annabeth and I had been up last time and sat there together under the stars. To me, that memory was a speck of gold dust among dirt.

It didn't take me long to climb up the many steps to the compound's roof, careful to avoid being seen. When I emerged onto the wide concrete roof, a wave of cold, dusky air washed over me. I fought back a shiver, wrapping my jacket tighter around me. Annabeth must be freezing if she'd been up here long. My gaze flickered over the expanse of the base's roof, finally landing on a blonde figure leaning against the edge. Her hair was a beacon in the blackness, floating up and down in the burgeoning wind. "Annabeth!" I called. I approached her, quickening my pace.

She turned around to meet me, arms folded over her chest. She _did_ look cold—as I got closer, I noticed the goosebumps that trailed the bare skin of her forearms. A quiet smile tugged at her cherry lips. "Hey."

"Don't you want to go in?" I asked. "It's fucking cold up here."

"Is it?"

I rolled my eyes. "What did you want to talk to me about, then?"

"Just...a little thing." Annabeth turned back around to lean on the roof's edge, bracing her elbows on the stone. The city's lights reflected on her face, flickering with her breathing.

I went to stand beside her. "You're not acting like it's a little thing."

Annabeth exhaled sharply. "I know I'm not." She shook her head. A dry, halting laugh echoed from her throat. "You always read me too well."

I didn't know what to say to that. I fidgeted with the cuff of my sleeve, drawing it down over my knuckles to fend off the brisk weather. "You're kinda stressing me out, Beth. Should I be worried?"

Annabeth looked at me, then, grey eyes evaluating. When I'd first met her, they'd been hardened steel. Now, they were soft—like crumbling ash. I wondered how I could've ever been afraid of this girl. "Percy," she started. "I'm sorry."

My pulse quickened. I didn't want to hear the news she had for me. "Sorry? Sorry for what?"

Annabeth's fingers dug into her elbows, like she was holding herself tight. "I spoke to Sir today."

"What did he want?"

"An evaluation of the mission. I told him the details of my failed attempt on Wyatt's life, how I got stabbed for my ineptitude. Sir was pissed. He wouldn't even let me explain that Cupid tipped Wyatt off."

I nodded slowly. "Guess that barely matters now the fucker's in hospital, right? Still, I wish I had the chance to finish him off myself for what he did to Roxanne."

"I know. It's messed up." Annabeth sighed. "Anyway, Sir decided I've fulfilled my worth here in Paris. He thinks I'll be more useful back in America, with the New York branch. I'll probably be leading a few drug operations. Guess he wants me out of the line of fire for now—I think my injury was a wake-up call to him. No matter how much he hates me for being his treacherous brother's daughter, I'm still the only family he has left." The next thing she said was fast and rushed, like she was hoping I wouldn't hear. "I'm leaving in the morning."

It took me a moment to process. "You're...you're leaving?"

"I'm sorry, Percy. I can't do anything about it. I begged Sir, but he's adamant."

My mind whirled. It felt like the ground beneath my feet was breaking apart. Annabeth had been such a huge presence in my life for so long, but tomorrow she'd be gone. I wanted to cry, to shout, to sob. How was this happening? I slumped against the roof's edge, strength giving way. "Is there nothing I can do? No way to stop this?" I asked. When Annabeth shook her head, I felt like hitting something. Frustration rose in me, brutal as a heart attack.

Annabeth stepped forward, taking my hand. Her touch was warm—like fading embers. "Maybe it's for the best." Annabeth's voice sounded strained, and her eyes were swimming. "When I'm around you, I do stupid things. You make everything feel better when it's not. You're just a false sense of security, and I can't afford that. I can't afford you." She was really crying now. I wanted to gather Annabeth close to me, tell her everything was going to be alright.

I took her other hand, tracing soothing circles on her palm. "You can afford me, Annabeth. You can. We deserve each other, after the shitstorm we've survived. Please. Please." God, now I was crying. Annabeth reached up to wipe away the tear that was making its way down my cheekbone. A scream boiled in my lungs as I realised something. I spoke, voice hoarse. "I love you. Annabeth, I'm in love with you."

Annabeth was shaking her head, cheeks wet. "You're not."

"I am."

She stepped closer to me, fingers soft where they rested on my face. "No, you're not."

"Yes, I am," I breathed. Annabeth's gaze flickered over mine, searching for something. A heartbeat later, she leaned in. Our mouths were a centimetre apart. Carefully, I breached the distance and kissed her.

She kissed me back. Annabeth's lips tasted like salt, and they were savagely chapped from the city's harsh wind. Her touch blazed fire against my skin as her palm slid down to my jaw. Seconds fell away as we melted against each other, unwilling to end the kiss.

Somehow, eventually, we did. I rested my forehead against hers while I caught my breath. Both of us were grinning like lunatics. "I want to live in this moment and never leave," I whispered.

Annabeth laughed, but it was tinged with grief. "Still, we have to," she murmured back.

I knew that. God, I knew that. When I woke up tomorrow, Annabeth would be gone. She'd be gone, and I had no way of knowing if I'd ever see her again. "I wasn't lying, you know," I said.

Annabeth stepped back, but only barely. Her grip on my hand tightened, as she wound her fingers around my own. She nodded, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "But we can't do this," she mumbled. "We'll hurt each other. I know we will."

Something in me broke. "We won't," I insisted. "I promise we won't."

But Annabeth had already pulled away from me entirely. Before I knew it, there was space between us. The world was dark again. "I'll find you before I go," she said. My hands were shaking, and I couldn't tell if it was due to my frustration or the cold.

Annabeth went inside, leaving me alone with the deafening stars.

* * *

 **Thanks so much for reading! I always love to hear what y'all think so drop a review if you're enjoying this fic :)**

 **Also, I just thought I'd let you guys know that I finally got around to signing up as a beta! So, if you're writing PJO fanfic and you'd like me to beta for it, just check out my beta profile and shoot me a PM about it or leave a review! I've got a ton of free time at the moment so I'd love to help out xx**


	15. Beautiful & Terrible

**CHAPTER 15: BEAUTIFUL & TERRIBLE**

PERCY

When I returned to my dorm, I couldn't sleep. My mind was a haze of frustration—towards Annabeth, towards Sir. Towards the world in general. I was even frustrated with myself for not realising I loved Annabeth sooner, but I just hadn't expected that we'd ever be separated so harshly. I was desperate for a solution.

Soon enough, Annabeth would be on the other side of the world to me, and she wouldn't be coming back. I fiercely wanted to follow her, but how? I was stuck in Paris, bound to Sir by the deal we'd made. Even though I'd been in his good books lately, I doubted he'd let me accompany his niece even if I begged. Still, I was prepared to do anything. That had to be worth something, right?

I half-wondered if I was going crazy. I'd come here for Annabeth and stayed for her, even risked my life for her. Now I was contemplating returning to America, my stepfather's territory, just so I could remain by her side. Something was probably wrong with me, but I hardly cared. The kiss she and I had shared swirled in my memory, and my thoughts were choked by the broken reality of what we could've been.

As I lay in my bed waiting for dawn when I'd have to leave for early-rise training, I went over possible solutions to the problem in my head. I knew there was no point trying to convince Sir that Annabeth should stay; once he'd made a decision about anything, it was impossible to get him to change his mind. Also, there was no doubt Annabeth would be just as useful to the New York branch as to the Paris one, if not even more so. Her strategic mind and ruthlessness was perfect for leading drug operations—they were dangerous and convoluted, and staying out of the clutches of the police force was no small feat. She'd be perfect for it.

It seemed to be that my only option was to go with her. If I asked that outright, though, Sir would laugh in my face. I had to work out a way of obtaining some sort of leadership role over in New York, and to phrase the question in such a way to Sir that he thought I just wanted to climb the mafia's ranks. It sounded impossible, but after my success with assassinating Wade Wyatt a month ago, I'd stumbled into Sir's good graces. Now, I knew he saw me as an asset. Maybe even an ally.

Something came to me. Last week, I remembered hearing about an upcoming reconnaissance mission. It was meant to be long-term, and the authorities over there were looking for new leadership to head it up. I'd heard it was set to last for two months, if not longer. Though the rest of the details escaped me, I decided that this would be my best chance. If I stayed in Paris, I'd never see Annabeth again—that much was certain. Maybe it was stupid to place so much of my hope on whatever the hell it was that we had between us, but I didn't care. The thought of losing her scared me more than anything.

* * *

As soon as early-rise training finished, I changed out of my workout clothes and left quickly, waving off Rachel's concerns. "Just going to ask Lou-Ellen about next Monday's meeting," I lied, and thankfully Rachel didn't question me any further. I only had an hour's break between now and shooting practice, and I wanted to speak to Sir as soon as possible. It was vital that I got to him before he made any decisions about who was going to head the long-term operation over in New York.

I approached the door to his office, trying to slow my breathing. I had to remain as calm as possible; Sir would only listen to me if I kept a level head. Carefully, I raised my fist and knocked evenly on the door. No response for a moment, and then Sir's irritated voice barked, "Who is it?"

"Percy Jackson, Sir," I responded, flexing my knuckles to stop their tremor.

Silence for a moment as I waited. "Fucking come in, then." I did so, opening the door with a click. I'd never been in his office before, but I refrained from looking around at the dozens of immaculate rifles and shotguns lined up on the walls. Refusing to be intimidated, I closed the door behind me.

Sir was sitting at his desk, working on a stack of documents. His pen made an uncomfortable sound as it scratched against the paper with so much force that I was surprised the nib didn't break. Sir didn't look up, face shadowed by his white-blond hair. It was the same colour as Annabeth's, one of the features they shared. Not for the first time I wondered what had happened to Annabeth's dad, why he wasn't around anymore. Annabeth had told me he was dead, but she'd never elaborated any more than that. I cleared my throat, willing myself to speak. "Hello. Sorry for intruding, but I was hoping for the chance to speak to you."

Sir scoffed. "You already are." When I didn't respond for a moment, his cruel, charcoal gaze flickered up to mine. "Come on, out with it. Don't waste my time, recruit."

I took a deep breath, unconsciously lacing my fingers behind my back to straighten my posture. Whenever I'd spoken to Gabe in his office, he'd always berated me for slouching. "I wanted to talk to you about the upcoming reconnaissance mission in New York. I've been waiting for a leadership opportunity like this one for a while, and I think I'd be well-suited to it."

At that, Sir looked—not taken aback, but surprised that I'd brought it up. "That operation? And you're aware it's two months long?"

I nodded. "I know it's an unconventional mission and I'll need to devote a lot of time to it, but I'm certain that I'm the one you want." I paused, raising a brow. "Also, when I joined this organisation, you said you'd give me opportunities, ways to gain some traction back in this world. I've fallen far. I need this. I've done everything you've asked of me, and more."

Sir considered my words for a moment, leaning back in his chair. When he spoke, it was almost a shock. "Did you know that I originally chose Cupid to lead this mission?"

That was new information to me. "No, Sir."

"Well, I thought he'd do well on it. That was, until he almost blew himself to bits with a grenade and landed himself in the hospital." Sir laughed at my shocked expression. "That's right, I did work out how that happened. I'm not stupid—it doesn't take a genius to look at Cupid and Grace's petty little feud and figure out that Cupid might've tipped Wyatt off, then panicked when you ruined his plans. I owe you for that. Though, I can't say I'm surprised you managed to pull it off. I've heard a _lot_ of things about the Butcher's stepson—and very few of them are good."

I didn't reply. I knew my reputation preceded me in the eyes of people like Sir, but I'd never really considered how much. "I was just following the mission," I replied.

Sir flapped a hand. "Don't play mindless soldier with me, Jackson. You and I are a lot alike. We know to tread carefully in this business, that ascending the ladder of life is difficult without pushing others off." He gathered the documents in front of him and compiled them into a neat stack, then pushed them to one side. "You may not believe it, but you've earned my confidence."

"Thank you, Sir." I wasn't sure what else to say.

Sir's gaze on my own was unwavering. "Now, I'm aware that your motivations regarding your transferral to the New York branch may not be entirely sound. Don't think I haven't noticed how close you've become to my niece. It's very interesting that now she's left for America, you're oh-so-eager to go there."

I opened my mouth to speak. "I—"

Sir held up a hand to interrupt me. "I will look past it. You've proven that my best interests align with your own, so I'm going to allow you to take leadership of this operation. What you want with Annabeth is nobody's concern, though the fact remains that she's under my protection. I'll have your flight to New York booked for tonight—I trust that's reasonable?"

Relief flooded me. "Yes, Sir. I won't let you down."

Sir nodded once. "New York is your stepfather's territory. This mission may put you at direct odds with his forces, as I'm sure you know. I will require concise weekly reports from you, and you will work with several other officers to handle your squads. This operation could last the allotted two months, or it could go on for far longer, depending on how your work unfolds." A cold smile tugged at Sir's mouth. "I have every faith that you _will not_ fuck this up _._ If you do, there will be consequences. Do we understand each other?"

"Of course, Sir," I said. "Thank you."

"I will excuse you from this afternoon's training so you can tie up any loose ends before you leave, and I'll have my assistant send you the details of your journey. You are excused."

I left quickly, apprehension pooling in the pit of my stomach.

* * *

Right after the morning's shooting practice ended, I went to Reyna. I tugged on her sleeve to grab her attention as the rest of the squad dissolved to head to feeding. She looked surprised that I wanted to talk to her. "Percy. What can I do for you?"

I decided to get it out quickly. "I'm leaving the Paris branch. I asked Sir if I could head an operation in New York, and he agreed."

A jumbled array of emotions flitted across Reyna's features. She seemed to settle on anger, clenching her jaw. "What? You're leaving the squad?"

"I'm sorry," I said. "You did so much for me by letting me join, and I'm grateful for that. But this is important to me. I—"

"I know, I know. Honestly, I don't want Annabeth alone in New York any more than you do. I can see where you're coming from by following her, but..." Reyna shook her head. "You're my best recruit, Jackson, and I'm expecting to show your damn face back in Paris when the mission's over, alright?"

I smiled. "Thanks, Reyna. Don't worry, I'm not leaving forever. I'd hate to leave you alone to deal with Grace."

Reyna rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Just do me a favour and look after Annabeth, okay? I know you probably won't get to see her much, with all the shit you'll be working on, but at least keep an ear out for what she's up to."

"I will," I promised. "If I have my way with it, she won't have to be in New York for long."

Reyna nodded stiffly. A little reluctantly, she pulled me into a hug. "Don't get your dick shot off by your fuckhead stepdad," she muttered into my shoulder.

I laughed, letting go of her. "I'll try."

Reyna half-smiled. "You know, when you first came, I hardly trusted you as far as I could throw you. I don't know how you wormed your way into my good books, Jackson, but you did. I'm sorry to see you go." She ruffled my hair, expression the kindest I'd ever seen on her. Then she turned to leave, tossing a few final words over her shoulder. "Remember, look after Annie for me!"

She was gone before I could summon a reply.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a blur. As Sir had let me off from afternoon training, I spent the time packing up the few possessions I'd accumulated into a suitcase, which was mostly clothes except for my toiletries, a charcoal portrait I'd let Rachel draw of me, some cash, and a few books Annabeth had lent me. I still hadn't finished _The Rose Society,_ which I'd started a month ago. I also texted Piper, saying that I was leaving the country for a couple months but that I'd definitely be back to see her. _I'll keep in touch,_ I typed, then added a smiley face. I was worried Piper would panic about it, but I hoped she knew that I sure as shit wasn't just gonna leave her to rot. When she made it out of rehab, I'd be waiting. There was no doubt about that.

By the time I finished packing, I'd barely even filled a suitcase. I'd organised a backpack for the flight, too, which held my earphones, a neck pillow, and _The Rose Society._ Hopefully I'd get through a bit more of it so I could eventually pick up the final book in the trilogy.

When I checked the time on my phone, I realised it was almost evening feeding. I'd have to shower and eat fast in order to catch my flight. Quickly, I showered and then changed into some jeans and a t-shirt, shrugging my old leather jacket over my shoulders.

I headed down to feeding, feeling more comfortable now I was out of my recruit uniform. The mess hall was packed tonight; it was Saturday, and socialising was in order before everyone got blackout drunk in the rec room, ready for a Sunday lie-in. I went and grabbed my food—a couple slices of pizza—before I heard someone yell my name. I spun around to see Lou Ellen waving at me, calling me over to sit with her. Grace was sitting opposite. He looked tired and was tucking hard into a plate of cold pasta. I walked over to them and sat down next to Lou Ellen. "Hi. You alright?" I greeted her.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Lou Ellen's face was stony as she leaned on her fist. "Heard from Reyna you're leaving town."

"Yeah, I know. I'll be back in two months though, if all goes well."

"And if it doesn't?"

Shrugging, I picked up a slice of pizza. "Then I guess I'll be longer."

"It's no secret why you're going, Jackson. It's obvious, from the way you look at Chase."

I sighed. "Just drop it, alright? I'm aware it's probably stupid. But Sir was always gonna assign me to a new operation anyway. It's better that it's this one, as I know I'll at least come back to Paris. It'll probably be hell while I'm there, but fuck it. I'm all in now."

Lou Ellen laughed. "No point persuading you otherwise, huh? You're more impulsive than Grace." At that, Jason didn't even lift his eyes from his food, only flipped her off with the hand that wasn't on his fork. Lou Ellen stretched and picked up her empty tray. "Alright. I'll see you when you get back, Jackson. Don't be a stranger, yeah?"

"I won't," I answered. Lou Ellen clapped me on the back as she left, already yelling someone's name who was across the mess hall.

Across from me, Jason looked up. He really did look tired. Dark half-moons ringed his bright eyes, and his posture was absolutely shit. When he spoke, I wasn't expecting it. "How'd you convince Sir?" he mumbled around a mouthful of pasta.

"He thinks I want to gain power," I replied. "I said some shit about wanting opportunities, and as Cupid's out of action, Sir needed someone else to head the operation anyway."

"You're an idiot," Grace said, blunt as anything.

I choked on my pizza. "What?"

"You're an idiot for sacrificing your place here. There's no way the mission won't go on longer than two months, and even though it could give you a push through the ranks, what if you mess it up? You'll fall out of Sir's good graces and you'll be back to square one."

"I'm not going to screw it up," I insisted. "And if I never take risks, I'll never make it out of here. I know _you_ of all people can relate to that."

Jason shook his head as he returned to his food. "Just don't come crying to us when you realise you've fucked up."

I felt myself getting angry. I put down my pizza, glaring at Jason. "You know what? You're right. If I fail, there'll be consequences. I'll lose any status I could've stood to gain. I'll lose my place here. Hell, I'll even lose Annabeth. But I know how to lead missions and I know how to strategize, so I'm _not going to fail._ "

Jason didn't even look shocked at my outburst. Instead, he laughed. "You and Beth suit each other, alright."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

Jason raised his hands in surrender. "Nothing, nothing." He grinned sharply, spearing a few pieces of pasta with his fork. "Maybe I don't think you should go, but I can still see why you want to. Before you showed up, Annabeth was different. More focused, more closed-off. Anyone can see that you two are good together."

I wasn't sure what to say. Glumly, I picked up my slice of pizza again. "It's not like any of that matters, now. Annabeth already said that she doesn't want to take a chance on us. She said she doesn't want either of us to get hurt, but I know it's only because she's afraid." I stared at my drooping pizza slice, no longer feeling an appetite. "I just don't know how to show her that she doesn't have to be."

Jason raised a brow. "Quit thinking about it, Jackson. You've made the first step—you're following her to America, for fuck's sake. Let things be. Concentrate on not screwing up your operation, as that's what you really need to worry about."

"Yeah, I know," I sighed. We ate in silence for a few moments, the air heavy with everything we'd left unsaid. Just then, something occurred to me. "Hey, Grace."

"Uh huh?"

"Can you do me a favour?"

Jason cocked a brow. "Depends what the favour is."

"Would you visit Piper for me while I'm gone? She's in rehab, and I just want to make sure she has someone to check on her. I know you only spoke to her a couple times, but I'd really appreciate it."

Jason thought for a moment. "What's in it for me?"

I grimaced. "I'll owe you one?"

"Whatever," he groaned. "Send me the details over text."

"Thanks, man," I grinned.

Jason pointed his fork at me, accusing. "As long as your friend doesn't bite my head off when I show up."

I laughed. "No promises."

After feeding, I rushed back to my dorm. The time on my phone read 9:30. My flight was at midnight—I'd have to be quick. This time, I'd be taking a normal flight, unlike when we'd flown for the Wyatt mission. There was no need to commandeer a flight as there was only one of me and I wasn't taking any illegal shit, so it wouldn't be hard to fly under the radar.

I pushed open the door to my dorm, intending to grab my suitcases and leave. But as I stepped inside, I ran into Rachel. Her arms were folded, gaze stern. " _Et où pensez-vous que vous allez?_ " she asked angrily, gesturing to the suitcase lying on my mattress.

I rubbed the back of my neck. "I'm sorry, Rach," I replied, following suit in French. "I know this is sudden, but I've taken leadership of a mission in America. It's two months—"

"Two months?" Rachel spat. "And you didn't think to tell me? You were just going to leave without saying goodbye?"

"I thought it'd be easier," I said. "It's shit, I know, but I promise I'll be back."

Rachel glared at me, then heaved a sigh. She stepped forward and hugged me. Her frizzy hair tickled my jaw. " _Je sais que tu le feras_ ," she mumbled. "Keep in touch, okay? I'm gonna miss my roommate." She pulled away. A smudge of red paint on her t-shirt had come off on the hem of my jacket.

"Of course I will," I assured her. I reached down and picked up my suitcase, sliding out the handle. Rachel passed me my backpack for the flight. I shrugged it on, smiling at her. "Thanks. Look after yourself, yeah?"

Rachel nodded. Her pale green eyes flickered, and she turned back to the painting she was working on. So far she'd only laid down the dark underpainting, but I could tell it was going to look good. "I'll see you in two months," she called over her shoulder.

I left, saying a final goodbye.

* * *

Two hours later, I boarded the flight to New York. The unsettling feeling whenever I stepped on a plane began to tickle at me, but I squashed the nausea before it could rise. I didn't have time to be scared; I had to stay focused.

I found my seat, which was thankfully by the window—at least I'd feel a little less claustrophobic here. I unpacked my bag, opening _The Rose Society_ on my lap. It was good that I'd brought it, as I doubted I'd be able to snatch a lot of sleep. As the plane shakily took off into negative space, my knuckles went white on the book's pages as I stared blankly at the inky words. Fear gripped my ribcage, and it took me almost a minute to make it through one complete sentence. Then another. Then another. _In the silence, I sit alone on my throne and wait eagerly for all the satisfaction and triumph to hit me. I wait, and wait, and wait. But it doesn't come._

Once the plane felt still again, I made myself look up and out of the window. We were soaring high above the city. In the darkness, Paris glistened with thousands of specks of golden light. The sky was bereft of clouds, the air clear of fog. It looked beautiful and terrible, a conscious being in its own right.

I found it difficult to believe that I'd lived in this place for well over a year now. In it, I'd slept on the streets, sung in bars, and been tortured. I'd fallen back hard into my old life, but...I'd met Annabeth. _Annabeth._ I was going to see her again—if she wanted to see me. I hoped she would.

Somehow, I couldn't shake the feeling that I wouldn't be returning here for a long time.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading, let me know if you enjoyed this update! I'm currently in the process of drafting a couple other short _ish_ fics as well as working to finish Cigarette Daydreams, but I'm hoping to start outlining another longer, multi-chap fic like this one pretty soon. I've got some ideas brewing but I also want to write the kind of stuff you guys would like to read, so if there's any themes or AUs you'd like me to explore I'd love to hear them :) **

**As always, you can find the aesthetic board for this fic on pinterest! My account is _suicidal_stolen_art_**


	16. Worlds Apart

**CHAPTER 16: WORLDS APART**

PERCY

I barely noticed the plane land. Though the flight had been long-haul, I'd only gotten an hour of shut-eye and felt dead on my feet as I stumbled down the ramp and onto the concrete of JFK airport. Above me, the clouds thundered and rain lashed from the sky. I didn't have a raincoat, so I was drenched to the skin in seconds as I ran to get inside.

By the time I made it to baggage claim, my hair was plastered to my face in sticky crimson strands. My roots were awful—they'd grown out way too far. Not for the first time, I wondered if I should just heed Annabeth's advice and dye my hair back to its natural black. After all, I didn't need to hide my appearance anymore.

My bag was one of the first ones out. I grabbed it and quickly headed to the gate where I'd be picked up by another officer. I wasn't sure if they knew what I looked like, but I imagined they'd be holding a sign or something.

It didn't take long for me to spot them. The officer was wearing a sleek black suit, and his dirty-blonde hair was painstakingly gelled. Sure enough, he was indeed holding a sign— _Mr. Jackson_ had been scrawled on it in Sharpie. As I approached, he pushed back his cuff to check his watch. "Hey, it's Jackson," I called. "You the officer Sir mentioned?"

The guy looked up, face breaking into a glowing smile. "Oh, hello." Surprisingly, his accent was crisply British. "Yeah, the name's Will Solace. I'll be working with you for the next couple months." He offered a hand for me to shake. I accepted it, grimacing internally as he touched the twisted scars on my knuckles and palm. To his credit, he didn't flinch or pull away. "How was your flight?" he asked instead, slinging my rucksack over his shoulder so I only had my suitcase left to carry. We started heading for the airport's glass doors. Through them, I could see it was still raining heavily.

"Fine," I replied. "Barely slept, though." I waved a hand vaguely. "Heights, and all that."

Will nodded. "I'm the same way." A glint entered his eye, and he smirked. "One of my old boyfriends once asked me to join the Mile High Club with him on a business flight to Nepal, but I was too busy hurling into a paper bag for us to get anywhere. "

At his dry tone, I couldn't hold back a laugh. "You're kidding."

He made a pained expression. "Afraid not. He broke up with me a week later." As we pushed through the revolving doors, Will pulled out an umbrella and extended over our heads for shelter. He leaned forward to look ahead up the road and audibly gasped in relief. "Thank fucking Christ, my car's still there. I was worried they might tow it 'cause I couldn't be arsed to wait for the car park."

Will stepped into the driver's side of his glossy black car, and I walked around to climb into the passenger's seat after putting my suitcase in the boot. I clicked on my seatbelt, happy to be out of the rain. "Who else is heading up the operation? I wasn't told much before I left."

"Well, there's two others on our team—Officers Grace and di Angelo."

I wasn't sure I'd heard him right. "Grace? As in Jason Grace's sister, Thalia?"

Will nodded as he looked back to glance in the rear-view mirror, spinning the wheel with one hand. "Yeah. You know Jason?" he asked.

"We worked on a few missions together back in Paris."

"Huh, didn't know that. He used to lead my old squad when he was still stationed over here on the New York branch. Bit of a dick, in my personal opinion, but then again I suppose most people are who're on this particular walk of life. From my experience, anyway."

I laughed. "Point made."

Will stepped on the accelerator, running a red light and cutting in front of another car. The woman inside cussed at him. He cringed, waving apologetically out the window. "Sorry, love!" he called. Still, it wasn't the worst driving I'd ever seen back when me and my mom had used to live in New York when I was younger. "So, how was life in Paris? Amongst the French, and all that?"

I picked at my cuticles. I'd developed the habit again, annoyingly. "It's not all it's cracked up to be, I guess. Some good music back there, though."

"Oh, you're into live music? New York's got some great venues, but I miss Bristol—my old city where I lived back in England. The music scene there's a little more gritty. More down-to-earth." Will shook his head. "You Americans are so obsessed with all your elitist shit, it's unbearable."

I raised a brow. "Thought that was an English stereotype?" I teased.

Will scoffed. "Right. You've clearly never been to Stokes Croft."

We chatted for a while about nothing and everything as Will drove us to the base, and I slowly started to ease up. It always took me a while to feel comfortable around new people, but Will was so outgoing that it was hard to dislike him. Eventually, I decided I should probably find out some more about the operation I'd be leading with him and the others. "So, tell me more about the mission. It's recon, yeah?" I asked.

"You'll receive a file about it," Will replied, "and we'll have a briefing with the others when we get to the base. But I'll give you the rundown now. Basically, there's an unidentified gang who've been fucking with us for a while. Messing with our drug runs, stealing our stock. We've been working to capture some of their men for a while to get to the bottom of it, but to no avail. They're so well-organised, they evade our clutches every time."

"So our job is to acquire more information, and eventually bring them to their knees?" I asked.

"Precisely. But me and the others have all lived in New York for so long that it feels like it's impossible for us to see the big picture." Will flashed me a smile. "I'm hoping your fresh outlook will help."

I sighed, leaning my head against the cold window. The city passed us by in a blur, all grey skyscrapers and endless rain. "I guess we'll see."

* * *

It took us about forty-five minutes to get to the base, which could've been worse regarding the state of New York's traffic. Will parked his car in a back street behind the base so it was hidden from public view. The actual base was a small-ish converted hotel which blended seamlessly into the skyline of New York, though I was sure it probably extended beneath the ground too. Even so, it was far smaller than the huge complex I'd grown used to in Paris.

Will seemed to notice my appraisal of the building. "It's small, right? Must feel different from Paris." I nodded, and he continued. "Well, that's 'cause our system here is a little different. Rather than having one condensed base, we're more spread out—the New York branch expands over multiple different locations. One in Brooklyn, two in Manhattan, etc. It's safer that way. If the police somehow root us out, it's much less of a loss and easier to recover from."

I stared up at the base, adjusting my backpack on my shoulder. "Huh. Makes sense."

After passing security on the ground level, Will led me through the building, helping familiarise me with it. We passed dozens of recruits. Some wore suits, some wore military gear. Will explained that the training rooms and interrogation chambers were on the sub-levels that had been dug out over the years, and that the main building was comprised mainly of briefing rooms and dorms for the recruits and officers.

"You get your own room, now," Will told me, as he retrieved the keys to my dorm and office from administration and pressed them both into my palm. "I'll bet it'll be way nicer than what you had before. You're on the fifth floor, Room 305. Go shower and change—you must feel a bit grim after that flight. See you later for the briefing, yeah? It'll be in my office." I thanked him, and he tossed a smile over his shoulder as he pulled his phone out of his pocket to make a call.

I headed to my dorm, keys dangling around my fingers. When I pushed open the heavy, hotel-room door, I was pleasantly surprised by what I saw. While my room wasn't big, it was furnished with a soft double bed, mahogany furniture and a wardrobe. I walked in, dropping my bags at the foot of my bed. The door to my right led to an en-suite bathroom. The whole setup was far nicer than the tiny dorm room I'd shared with Rachel back in Paris.

Still, what I really liked about it was the gorgeous, floor-to-ceiling window that opened onto a balcony. The view of New York was stunning, sure, but I was mostly happy to have somewhere in the open air to smoke. My fingertips were itching for a cigarette, but the desire to shower off the stench of travelling that clung to my skin won out. I'd have one after I freshened up.

I had a few hours to kill before I had to show up at Will's office to meet the others for a briefing, so I let myself spend a little longer in the shower than usual. I stood with my eyes closed under the spray, feeling the blazing water stream in rivulets down my shoulders and legs as I rubbed shampoo into my hair. The heat of the water was a welcome breath of energy into my tired body, and by the time I'd summoned the will to turn off the water my skin was a landscape of blushing red.

I got out of the shower, drying myself off with a towel and changing into some fresh clothes from my suitcase. I ran a brush through my tangled hair, bemoaning the state of it as I looked in the bathroom mirror. My roots really did look shit, so I resolved to go and find some black dye whenever I could.

After, I rummaged in my bag for the new pack of cigarettes that I'd bought in the airport and stepped out onto the glass balcony. I leaned on the railing and slipped a cigarette between my lips, burning the end with my silver lighter as I inhaled. I stared out into the city's skyline. The last, feeble dredges of rain stuttered from the fading clouds above, and I couldn't stop my mind from wandering. I knew my stepfather was here in New York—I hadn't been so close to his forces in a long time. Soon enough, word would get out that I'd returned to New York after several years, and when Gabe found out he'd be slavering at the mouth to capture and kill me.

Still, I refused to feel afraid of him. Of what he could do. I was stronger now than I'd ever been before, and if he tried anything he'd be met with the muzzle of my gun against his head.

* * *

Later, I headed down to Will's office for the briefing. It was pretty late and I was tired, so I hoped it wouldn't run on too long. I could hear voices inside Will's office, so I hesitantly pushed open the door. Will and two other officers were sitting around his desk. One was Thalia—her black boots were propped up on the table, and she was perusing an open file that lay on her lap. She looked the same as when I'd met her in Paris, except now her buzzed hair had grown out to her ears in a pixie-cut. I wondered how her treatments had been going. If her cancer was receding or not.

The guy sitting beside her was unfamiliar to me. His black hair fell around his freckled face, and his dark skin had an olive tone. He looked Italian. I guessed he must've been the other officer Will had mentioned.

As I walked in, Will looked up and smiled. "Oh, you're here. Sit down, we were just about to start."

I did as he asked, pulling out a chair opposite Thalia. She surveyed me, looking duly surprised. "Huh. Didn't realise you were the new operative. How's my brother?"

"Alright," I replied. "He's working on a few new operations. Misses you."

Thalia sighed with some measure of relief. "That's good. Jason barely ever talks to me, so I never know how he is."

I shrugged. "He probably doesn't mean to ignore you—he just gets wrapped up in his work sometimes."

She laughed dryly. "Sounds like Jason." Thalia gestured to the other guy sitting beside her. "Anyway, this is Nico di Angelo. He's leading the mission, too."

Nico raised a dark brow. "And you are?"

"Jackson," I responded. "Nice to meet you."

"From the Paris branch, right? I thought you'd be French when I heard the new officer was from there."

"Sorry to disappoint," I grinned. "I can speak the language, though."

Will clapped his hands together to divert our attention. "Okay! Good to have you here, Percy. It's late and I'm tired as all hell so we won't talk for long, but I just wanted to give you a general briefing." He cleared his throat, gathering the files in front of him into a stack. "In short, this is the second operation our higher ups have organised regarding the unidentified gang that we've been at odds with for months now. The first one failed, and four of the five officers leading it died while attempting to carry out a mission to capture one of their gang members. I was the only officer who _wasn't_ killed, so you can see why I'd quite like us to sort this shit out before there's any more casualties."

"God," I said, very eloquently. "They murdered four of our officers? No wonder there was so much of a buzz over this operation back in Paris."

Thalia leaned forward. "This mission is important. For months, they've terrorised our drug runs, tried to infiltrate our ranks, and spied on our procedures. There's a lot of interest that goes a long way up into our organisation regarding them, as they've humiliated us for a while now. We really, _really_ can't afford to fuck this up."

"Okay," I said. "Surely it won't be too hard to at least gauge their movements, if they're so hellbent on messing with us? Maybe we could somehow lay a trap?"

Will grimaced. "Yeah—we tried that, on the last operation. Didn't go so well." He drew out a file and handed it to me.

I opened it, scanning the documents within. There were blurry, dark photos of unidentifiable faces clearly taken in an action-packed moment, pages of written security footage, and several floor plans. The folder had been stamped with crimson ink— _FAILED OPERATION._ "The records of the last operation?" I asked. I flipped to the final page, marked _Casualties._ There were four, just like Will had said. "Shit. Must've been brutal."

"It was," Will said. He took the folder back from me and returned it to the pile. "We can't have another mission like that. We have to succeed."

I felt a rush of determination. I locked my jaw. "We will."

Nico met my eyes. "Don't be too optimistic about it. I have a feeling it'll be way harder than we think to apprehend any of their recruits, much less their officers. To me, this whole thing seems sketchy—their gang might be even more organised and convoluted than any of us realise."

"Which is why we need to be on top of our game," Thalia interrupted. "I've set out patrol routes for our squads corresponding to the whole New York branch's movements—every drug transferral, intelligence meeting and reconnaissance operation. Hopefully, we'll start seeing something. A pattern, a sequence to their actions."

I nodded slowly. "They'll try and be unpredictable," I said. "But there's always order in chaos."

We talked for a while longer, until the clock on the office's wall ticked to one 'o' clock. Will ended the briefing, and we all helped reorganise files. Nico and Will left first, talking quietly between one another. Their heads seemed to dip closer together than they needed to; their knuckles brushed when they walked. It didn't seem like a stretch that there could be something between them.

Thalia noticed my lingering gaze. "You're more perceptive than you look," she grinned.

My eyes snapped back to her. "What?"

Thalia flicked her chin toward the door, where the other two had left. "Will and Nico. You see it too, right?"

I rolled my eyes, tucking the stack of files Will had given me under my arm. "Anyone with half a brain could."

Thalia raised her hands in surrender. "Just saying. I've been wondering for months who's gonna make the first move."

I laughed. "I'm not really into gossip."

"Yeah, yeah. You know as well as I do that it's fun to speculate."

* * *

Thalia and I walked back to our rooms together, chatting about the operation. "There's a few things I want to follow up," she was telling me. "Think you can stomach helping me look over files for a bit? I know it's late and you've come all the way from Paris, but I'd really appreciate it."

"Sure. But not for long or I'll probably pass out."

She thanked me, and we headed to her room. It was way messier than mine, as she'd been living in it for a while—stacks of clothes spilled out of her wardrobe, and the shelves on her walls were covered in piles of books. "Sorry about the mess," Thalia said. "Usually I'm the only one who has to see it."

"It's fine, don't worry about it," I assured her. Thalia sat down heavily on her mattress, crossing her legs underneath her. I followed suit, opening the folders Will had given me.

We worked in silence for a minute, making notes and sorting the relevant files from the ones we wouldn't need. Eventually, though, Thalia spoke. "I know you said Jason was fine," she started, "and it's true that he always seems that way, but...can you tell me more about what happened after the Wyatt mission? A lot was riding on it, and I could never seem to get any information out of him whenever I talked to him about it."

I looked up to meet her apprehensive, electric-blue gaze. "Well, as the mission was a success, Sir got off his back. But he's been throwing himself into every operation he leads head-first, as if he's trying to prove himself or something. I don't know..." I trailed off. "I'm aware he's trying to pay off your medical fees, but it's like he's working himself to the bone."

Thalia's expression was carefully blank. She shook her head, looking down at the file in her lap. "I wish he could come back to New York. I don't like him being so far away." She scoffed. "He can handle himself, but he just never knows when to stop."

I was quiet for a moment. "You think Sir will ever let him cut ties? I mean, Jason's one of Sir's strongest officers. Would he be willing to let him go, if you guys manage to pay everything off?"

"I don't know if we _can_ pay everything off."

I put down my file, chewing on my lip. "You will," I said simply. "You and him are some of the strongest people I know."

Thalia looked grateful, despite her doubt. "Thanks. That means a lot, actually."

We went back to scouring the files. Though it was late, my mind was racing a hundred miles an hour. Ever since the briefing, a suspicion had been slowly building in the back of my mind. As my eyes flickered over the words written on the files, a bigger picture was forming in my head.

I remembered the tactics my stepdad always used, the patterns he always followed. I knew where his forces were strong and where they were weak. As I flipped through files, I carefully unboxed each memory, dusting them off and regarding them side by side with this new information. I was curious to see if my theory was rooted in reality at all.

Many of the unknown gang's movements somewhat matched up with where I knew Gabe had bases. In places that he'd always kept under surveillance, there'd been incidents—interrupted drug runs, stolen supplies. Missing recruits who'd been marked as _captured._ Now I was looking for it, the evidence was clear as day. I'd wanted to be wrong. So badly. But it looked like I wasn't.

I looked up from the files in my lap. "I have a theory," I said.

Thalia cocked a brow. "Oh?"

I cleared my throat. "Looking at these records, I'm starting to see a pattern. Most of the incidents happen in places like Harlem, the East Village, areas of Queens. From what I remember of working with him, my stepdad—Gabe Ugliano—has got strong bases surrounding those areas. Even the brutal techniques detailed in the records that the gang members used to assault our squads and negotiators...SPQR always used to favour them. Maybe I'm wrong, but..." I shook my head. "I have a really fucking bad feeling about this."

Thalia's eyes were wide as she scanned the files I'd been looking at. "You've got to be kidding. You think Ugliano's gang is behind this? SPQR?"

"Well, I'd have to do more research to be sure." I rubbed the side of my neck, where the brand of my tattoo stood stark against my skin. "But everything in these files stinks of his involvement. And it would make sense, too—with Ugliano's power and influence, he's capable of anything. Including the shit written in these records." I went quiet for a moment. "All those recruits who were captured...I'm not surprised they were never seen again."

Thalia exhaled slowly, setting down the folder she'd been holding. "Percy, we could be on the verge of sniffing out the identity of these unknown assailants after so many months of failure. If you're right..."

It was an effort to stop my hands from shaking. If I was right, I was going to have to face my stepdad after years of running. If I was right, I was in neck-deep in treacherous waters. "So, what do we do?" I asked. I was desperate for guidance, for her to quell the panic rising in my gut.

Thalia thought for a moment. "You mentioned Harlem, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah. That's where some of Gabe's strongest bases are hidden."

"And it's where a few of the incidents have happened before. Clearly, when we move our drugs through there, Gabe's men see that as an opportunity to strike."

I could see where Thalia was going with this. "And now that we know it's possibly SPQR behind this, we can somewhat predict where the attacks might happen."

Thalia's grin was sharper than a blade. Her eyes were bright with excitement, a jarring contrast against the darkness. "Exactly. And I've heard from Nico that one of our other bases is executing a drug transfer in Harlem tomorrow. A minor one, but it could be tempting nonetheless."

I smiled, mirroring her expression. "We could set a trap. Surround the place with moving recruits and block viable exits. If anyone attempts to strike, they'll have a hell of a time getting away."

"I like the way you think, Jackson." Thalia pulled out her burner phone to check the time. "I'll send out an alert to our squads in the morning as it's pretty late. Thanks for the help—you're invaluable."

I stood up, tucking my files back under my arm. As I opened the door to leave, I tossed a grim smile over my shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

When I got back to my room, I quickly stripped to my boxers and collapsed into bed. I'd had a long day. A quick glance at my glaring phone screen told me it was past two in the morning.

My mind wandered, unable to shut itself off. My thoughts shifted to Annabeth. She was here in New York, like I was, but...we might as well have been worlds apart for all the good it did us. Maybe I hadn't made the right choice in coming here. After all, I'd walked willingly into the heart of my stepfather's territory. I'd thrown all my years of running into the gutter, discarded all the endless sacrifices my mom had made to keep us both safe. It would be child's play for Gabe to find me now.

Images of blonde hair and red lipstick plagued me, perpetual as the rise and fall of my lungs. My brain devolved into a complicated mess of anxiety and hazy colours. After a while, I finally clawed my way into an unquiet sleep.

My dreams were as brutal as they came.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear what y'all thought about Nico and Will's introduction. Now that Percy's in New York things will get a lot more action-packed, and it won't be long before Annabeth and Percy are reunited ;)**


	17. Every Last Breath

**CHAPTER 17: EVERY LAST BREATH**

PERCY

The next morning, Thalia and I dragged ourselves out of bed at the asscrack of dawn so we'd have time to plan the surveillance mission. It was pretty simple: surround the building where the drug transfer was taking place with hidden recruits and see if anyone decided to strike. Now I'd figured out that it could be Gabe's men behind it, I couldn't stop overthinking. More than once, I caught myself picking at my cuticles as my anxiety twisted itself into a tight ball in my stomach.

Thalia and I met with the squad we were leading and gave them a brief run-down on their roles. We were all dressed in normal clothes as the regular black gear we wore for missions would be way too conspicuous in the streets of Harlem, but all of us had handguns and ammo clipped to our belts under our shirts. Hopefully, only a few shots would need to be fired—we were all trained in hand-to-hand combat and bringing down a few gang members should be child's play—but the guns were a precaution. After all, I knew not to underestimate my stepfather.

It was evening, and Thalia and I were sitting in the front of a car. We'd been slowly circling the block of apartments for ten minutes now and the transfer was due to take place fairly soon. I drummed my gloved fingers on the wheel as I stared forward into the road, feeling on-edge. It was getting dark and therefore harder to see, and I really, _really_ didn't want to be taken by surprise.

"Quit fidgeting," Thalia snapped in my direction. "You're making me nervous."

"Sorry. It's just—something about this whole situation doesn't sit right with me." We turned a corner, and I squinted into the darkness. Most of the streetlights in this area were either broken or barely gave out any light, but I supposed that the lack of council investment in this area was why it was so good for our drug negotiators to meet with suppliers. A lack of wealth meant a lack of police.

The comm set on our radio crackled as the voice of one of our recruits was patched through. " _There's a suspicious car that's been hanging around the building's radius for the last couple minutes. A black Volkswagen. We'll keep an eye on it."_

"Shit," I said. "Guess they're here."

"Not necessarily," Thalia rebuked. "Park right there. We're in good sight of the building at the moment, and we don't want to draw any attention."

I did as she asked and pulled up onto the curb. I took my gun out of its holster to make sure it was primed and checked my watch, which read 8:02. Reaching forward to hold a button on the comm set, I spoke into it. "Transfer should be taking place now. Be ready, but don't allow yourselves to startle." Through the building's window, I could see moving figures—our people and their suppliers. The transfer was taking place.

Thalia scrubbed a hand through her short hair, messing it up. In the dark, her blue eyes were a murky grey. She kept one hand on the holster of her gun. "Maybe they won't show," she murmured. "We might've been wrong about it being Ugliano."

Still, I couldn't explain to her how deeply I _knew_ it was him. All the files we'd gone over had his involvement written across them like a signature. I shook my head. "No, I'm certain..." I trailed off as my gaze caught on five figures that were stepping out of a black Volkswagen that had just turned the corner and parked by the building. Even from this distance, I could see silver guns glinting in their grips.

Beside me, Thalia stiffened. "Oh, shit." She quickly spoke into our comm set, relaying the arrival of the newcomers to the rest of our squad. "Out, Jackson. Now."

I could've gotten annoyed about her pushing me around, but there was no time. Fingertips brushing against my gun holster, I stepped out onto the road as the men ran inside the building. Thalia moved to go after them, but I grabbed her sleeve. "Don't. We should wait until they've apprehended the supplies. They'll be weighed down and it'll be easier to knock them out."

On the other side of the street, I could see three of our own recruits crouching on the sidewalk. I imagined the rest of them were lying in wait around the back of the apartment building to make sure that the men couldn't make their getaway out the back entrance. Inside, I could hear suppressed gunshots and shouting. Maybe it was cruel of me to leave our negotiators to defend themselves, but they'd been alerted and were armed and trained. The most important thing was for us to capture the gang members, and it wouldn't be possible to do that until they came back out.

It took only a couple minutes for the fighting to cease. The men appeared again at the front entrance, carrying two strapped-up crates of cocaine between them. I ran to the left side of the apartment's gate, still concealed by a brick wall, and motioned for Thalia to cut them off on the other side. She nodded, mouth set in a grim line. But before the men could run through the gate, I heard one of them yell, "Assailants!"

 _Crap._ They must've seen our recruits on the other side of the street. I made a split second decision and ran out into the road, firing blindly. One of my bullets found the leg of one of the men, and he cried out as he stumbled to the concrete, dropping the crate he was holding. The other gang members raised their guns, training them on me. I kept firing in an attempt to fuck up their aim as I quickly hid behind a car to reload.

From behind, Thalia hit one of them in the temple with the muzzle of her gun, but he managed to evade the blow and spun around to meet her. The other guy ditched his crate and sprinted for the Volkswagen, but two of our recruits emerged from where they'd been hidden behind it and quickly dispatched him with a few brutal hits to the stomach and head. He crumpled as I tore my gaze back to Thalia. The remaining gang member had tripped her, and his hands were wrapped around her throat. I could see that her lips were turning blue.

Without even thinking, I stepped back out into the street and raised my gun. The guy didn't even have time to look up before I'd blown a hole in his head. Thalia fell to her knees, cradling her bruised neck. I walked over to the guy I'd shot in the leg and grabbed his shirt, hauling him up to me. Blood was gushing out of his leg—I must've hit an artery. His skin was ashen. Bitter hate was etched into the contours of his face.

"Which gang do you work for?" I asked coldly. "Are you associated with Gabe Ugliano?" He started laughing. To my horror, white froth started bubbling out of his mouth. He'd bitten a poison tooth to avoid capture and interrogation.

I slapped him. "Well, are you?"

Eyes bloodshot and hazy, he grinned at me. When he spoke, his voice was a rasp. "We did wonder if the Butcher's son would show his face," he spat. Shock pulsed through me. I let go of his shirt, allowing him to slump lifelessly to the floor. Did that mean...Gabe knew I was in New York? How could he have known?

As I endured the unblinking stare of the dead man on the concrete, I tried to squash the panic that was threatening to engulf me. _Get a grip, Jackson,_ I told myself.

I turned around to help Thalia up. "You alright?"

She nodded. "You should've shot the guy who had me somewhere less lethal," she gritted out.

I didn't really want to look at the gang member who's brains I'd splattered across the ground with a bullet, but I did. He wasn't a pretty sight. "Don't be stupid, Grace. He was going to kill you."

She gave me a wry look. "Maybe, but we can't interrogate a dead man."

I gestured to where our recruits were forcing the remaining gang member into cuffs and a gag. "No need to worry about that. The last guy should know enough." I slid my gun back into its holster. "And from what the other one said to me, I'm pretty sure we now know for certain that my stepdad is behind this shit."

Thalia and I reconvened with our squad before disassembling and getting back into the car to head back to the base. A couple of the others had volunteered to take the captive. This time, Thalia drove. "And you're sure that's what he said?" she asked again.

"Positive. Thalia, he recognised me. He knew me." I let out a ragged sigh and rubbed my hands over my face. "I'm fucked."

"No, you're not. We can bend this to our advantage, I know we can. And look on the bright side—now we can be sure about Ugliano's involvement. We'll see how much information we can get out of the hostage and then go from there." Thalia's electric gaze locked onto mine in the rearview mirror. "Seriously, Percy. Don't scare yourself."

We drove in silence for a moment. Again, I found myself picking at my fraying cuticles. Hearing someone else say _the Butcher_ made everything feel a thousand times more real. I rubbed my thumb up and down the old train-tracks on my forearm that were hidden under my sleeve, trying to anchor myself before I got lost in a mess of memories that I wished would stay buried under the surface of my subconscious.

Thalia pulled us up in a backstreet that led to the base. "You can get out here. I have an appointment."

I started to undo my seatbelt, then stopped. "A medical appointment?"

Thalia worried her lip between her teeth. "Yes."

"How're your treatments going? You seem fairly healthy..." I trailed off, unsure if I was crossing any boundaries.

She looked down at where her hands lay still in her lap. "I guess, yeah. I've been off chemo for a while now after a failed surgery I went through last month. I don't know how much Jason's told you, if anything, but the doctors have been trying to shrink a tumour in my calf. They found it last January, which was kind of shit 'cause I'd had no evidence of cancer for going on a year before that. Jason and I had been hoping it was gone for good." She exhaled sharply. "Anyway, I'm starting a new chemo course today in preparation for another surgery. If this one isn't a success, they'll probably have to amputate."

"Shit," I said. "Well, you don't have to go alone. You shouldn't have to."

"It's fine, Jackson. Just go back to base."

I contemplated for a moment, then clicked my seat belt back on. "No, I think I'll come," I declared, flashing Thalia a grin.

She huffed, but I could see a smile on her face as she pulled back out onto the road. "Christ, you're even more clingy than Jason."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

* * *

The hospital was white, sickeningly clean and awash with the sense of suffering. When Thalia was called in for her chemo, the nurse let me sit by her as they pumped the chemicals into her veins. I rubbed circles into her shoulder whenever she had to throw up into the orange bucket resting on her lap.

I had no idea how she did it—stayed resolute and continued to lead operations while coping with her illness.

When we were done, Thalia and I waited outside the hospital for a while; she didn't want to get into a moving vehicle before her feeling of nausea had passed. We sat next to one another on a brick wall, watching the glowing traffic that ebbed and flowed before us. I lit a cigarette, making sure to blow the smoke well away from Thalia.

"Thanks for doing this," she said, nudging me with her shoulder. "Not many people would've."

"Don't thank me," I replied. "I'm only being decent."

She smiled at me. "Still."

We were quiet for a moment as I worked on my cigarette and Thalia fiddled with her clear hospital band. Then something occurred to me. "Hey, Thalia?"

"Mm?"

I hesitated. "Do you think Sir will still make you work on this operation when you get sicker?"

She looked apprehensive. "Probably. I'll have to, if Jason and I ever stand a chance of paying off my medical debt to him."

"You will." I didn't know if I was lying or not.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," Thalia mused. "I'll keep going as long as I can."

I finished my cigarette and stubbed it out on the brick wall. "Next time you have an appointment, ask me to come," I said. "I don't mind. I want to help."

Thalia's expression was unreadable, a window of hued glass. "I can see why Annabeth likes you," she said suddenly.

I was taken off guard. "What? How do you know about us two?"

She laughed. "I've known Annie a long time. We talk."

My heart thudded in my ribcage. "Did she...did she say that?"

"Not in so many words. But it's obvious from the way she talks about you."

And hell, I didn't know what to say to that. Except maybe the truth. I opened my mouth, then closed it again, reconsidering. "I don't know if you're right, but..." I sighed. "I like her, um. A lot."

"You told her, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah, but it didn't go down well. She kinda broke things off."

"That's Annabeth for you, though."

"Yeah." I kicked my legs where they hung off the edge of the wall, wishing for another cigarette. Every last breath of fresh air had me wishing for the harsh bite of smoke. "I'm only here 'cause of her. Maybe that's stupid, I dunno."

"It's not." I glanced back up to see Thalia looking at me. Her brow was furrowed. A second later, though, she grinned and elbowed me playfully. "I wouldn't fret. She'll come to her senses."

Grateful, I smiled back. "Maybe, maybe not. She's probably smart to stay away, if I'm honest."

"Oh, shut up—don't start with that. I can usually tell when two people are bad for each other, and you and Annabeth aren't."

I felt strangely reassured. "That's good to hear."

"Whatever." A second passed, then she reached up and ruffled my hair. "You want me to sort that out for you?"

"Sort what out?"

"Those dark roots of yours. They've been on my nerves since I first met you."

I groaned. "Ugh, yeah. I keep meaning to do something about them. Go back to natural or whatever."

Thalia nodded wisely. "Yeah, black would suit you better. The red does look fine, it's just too grown out." She thought for a moment. "I think I've got some black dye in one of my cupboards from when I had to fix Nico's hair after he let Will colour it purple. You wanna do it tonight? It'd only take half an hour and I can cut it as well if you want. The interrogation can wait 'til tomorrow."

I checked my watch—it was only about ten. And I really _did_ need to do something about the state of my hair. "Sure, that'd be nice."

* * *

By the time we made it back to the base and up to Thalia's room, my feet were aching from our long day. I kicked my shoes off by her door, breathing a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God."

Thalia gestured for me to come into the bathroom and stand in front of her stained mirror. "Take off your jacket and put a towel around your shoulders, unless you're fine with ruining your clothes." I followed her instructions as she rustled around in the cupboard and came up victorious with a box of cheap black hair dye, some scissors and an electric trimmer that I assumed she'd once used to shave her own head, judging by the buzz cut she'd sported when I'd met her back in Paris.

I warily cocked a brow when she placed the trimmer next to the sink. "And what are you planning to do with that?"

Thalia flashed me a smile. "Don't worry yourself, alright? I know what I'm doing. By the time we're finished here, you're gonna look just a little less like a bedraggled sewer rat."

"Thanks," I muttered. I forced myself to look up into the mirror. "So, I'm guessing we're dyeing it first?"

"You've guessed correctly." Thalia opened the box and removed the developer and dye, pouring both into a small bowl so she could combine them. Once she was done, she pulled on the pair of plastic gloves that came with it and started applying the mixture to my deep red hair, massaging it in with her fingers.

"You're actually pretty good at this," I admitted. Thalia just gave me a knowing look.

It didn't take long before she'd finished applying the dye. She gave me a shower cap to cover my head with while we waited. "It shouldn't take long to develop," she told me. True to her word, we were washing it out thirty-five minutes later. As Thalia rinsed it out, black dye swirled like pitch into the shower drain. Once the water started running clear, I finished up with some conditioner.

When I looked in the mirror, I had to smile. Though it was still wet, I could already see how much better it looked. It was actually kind of terrifying how much I resembled my younger self, barring the messy scars on my cheek. "Shit. It worked."

Thalia laughed. "Did you think it wouldn't? Now comes the hard part." She ran her fingers through my wet hair and started trimming it, using a comb to brush it. Once she appeared somewhat satisfied, she picked up the electric trimmer and turned it on. I tried not to flinch away as she started dragging it up the back and sides of my head, creating an undercut.

She worked slowly at buzzing the lower part, and when she was done she picked up the scissors again and snipped away at my bangs. I could barely watch as strand after strand of black hair drifted into the sink. But Thalia knew what she was doing—now, my hair framed my face rather than cast it in shadow, and the darkness of my hair contrasted against my eyes.

Thalia put down the scissors, admiring her handiwork. "Like it? Thought you'd look good with an undercut."

I turned my head this way and that, running my fingers over the buzzed sides. It was longer on top, and actually really suited my slightly wavy hair. "Yeah, thanks," I said with a smile. "It always looks so uneven when I try and do it myself."

"That's what I'm here for." She put all her supplies back into the cupboard and headed to her coffee machine in the other room. "I'm craving a hot chocolate. Wanna have one before you head back to get some sleep?" she called.

With a final glance in the mirror at my short black hair, I let my reflection be. It was hard not to think about how recognisable I was now. "Okay. I can stay for a while."

* * *

 **had to stay up through the witching hours to get this written as I got stuck into working on a completely different fic over the week, but still wanted to keep up with the regular sunday uploads!** **really wish I was one of those people who can actually focus on one project at a time :') also I've finished refining the outline for the rest of this fic! there's still plenty of chapters left but it's nice to feel like I'm getting somewhere haha.**

 **as usual, you can find the pinterest board for this fic at my account _suicidal_stolen_art_**


	18. Nothing Revealed (Everything Denied)

**CHAPTER 18: NOTHING REVEALED (EVERYTHING DENIED)**

PERCY

The next day, we interrogated the gang member Thalia and I had captured. It was drawn-out and frustrating, mostly because the questioning only made us more and more certain of the fact that he likely knew nothing more about the inner workings of Gabe's vendetta against the New York gang than we did. Even when I painted his face black and blue with bruises, we couldn't prise any more information out of him.

I spent the rest of the day organising some reconnaissance efforts that my squad would carry out and overseeing the training of some newer recruits that'd arrived in our base. The day melted away faster than anything. By the time I stumbled back into my room it was late and I was bone-tired. Still, I knew I had a lot to do before I could sleep so I made myself some black coffee, grabbed the files I needed and headed down to my office.

My head was filled with loose ends and broken connections that I knew all led back to my stepfather, but the hard part was tying them all together. Hopefully, there were answers to be found in the pages of these files and reports, so I sat at the desk in my office with my mug of liquid caffeine and began to pore over them, searching for something—anything. I desperately wanted the solution to jump out at me, but it didn't.

Time passed without my discretion, punctuated only by the endless ticking of the clock on the wall and the restlessness that slowly settled into my limbs. Before I realised it, it was two in the morning. I'd made a sizeable dent in the conceivably bottomless stack of files beside me and my brain was losing the ability to process information. Outside my office window, I could hear the cold, breathy wind that was blustering through New York, and silvery moonlight was falling in shafts through my blinds and pooling on my littered desk. As I began to re-read the same paragraph detailing an old negotiation with Gabe's gang for the eighth time, I let loose a groan and smacked my head down on the table a couple of times. "Fuck me," I muttered, with feeling.

My somewhat miserable self-pity session was suddenly interrupted by the sound of my office door creaking painfully open, and then by that of a familiar voice. "Why in hell are you still awake?"

I glanced up. Standing in the doorway was one of the other officers leading the operation—Nico di Angelo. "Looking for leads," I answered, rubbing the heels of my hands into my tired eyes.

"At two in the morning?"

Glaring at him, I returned to my files. "Yeah. And?" Wordlessly, Nico came and sat down opposite me. To my confusion, he picked up a file and opened it. "What are you doing?" I asked.

Nico raised a brow in my direction. "What does it look like? I'm helping."

A little shocked but still grateful, I replied with, "Oh. Thanks." The air was heavy with the rustling of paper for a few moments before I gathered the presence of mind to speak. "I'm looking for any more clues related to Gabe Ugliano. The interrogation gave us nothing, so I'm trying to work out what we haven't yet figured out."

Nico nodded slowly, making his long bangs fall in front of his face. "Okay. But what makes you think you'll be the one to work it out? These reports have been scrutinised hundreds of times."

I let out a shaky sigh. "I don't know. A different perspective, I guess? I know Ugliano's patterns, the way he works. Now that we've confirmed it's him behind this shit, I want to find out _why._ "

A furrow worked its way into Nico's forehead. "You know his patterns? How come?"

It dawned on me that not everyone here knew who I really was. I mean, why would they? Carefully, I said, "Well, I worked with him pretty closely when I was a kid."

Nico leaned back in his chair. " _You're_ the Butcher's runaway kid? Why the fuck didn't anyone mention that?"

"Not his kid, his stepson. And it's safer for me if I keep it on the down-low, especially now I'm here. But apparently the secret's out—Thalia and I found out during the mission yesterday that Ugliano knows I'm in New York." My voice trembled on the last bit, despite how hard I tried to keep it steady. I really wished it wasn't so obvious how scared I was of my stepfather.

Nico's gaze was disarming, reading my expression easily. "Must be weird, to be back again after so long."

"Yeah."

"Do you think...do you think maybe Ugliano's been targeting us because he knew you'd joined the Paris branch?"

The idea had crossed my mind. "Maybe. It would make sense. After me and my mom booked it, he tried for years and years to get his hands on us." I sighed, dragging a hand through my now-short hair. "I don't know. His failure to find me is a humiliation, that's for sure. If I were him, I wouldn't rest until I showed the world how powerful I really am."

Nico nodded slowly, his charcoal eyes absent in thought. I watched as he twisted the silver skull ring on his finger round and round, mindlessly. "Sounds like he could be, you know, building up to something," he murmured. "Will's suspected for a while now that the New York branch has been infiltrated and could be on the edge of falling apart, but he was never sure who was behind it."

"Yeah, I wouldn't be surprised if he's been designing an attack plan that'll be fatal for us in the long run," I agreed. "Laying groundwork, creating layers of corruption…those things were always my stepdad's forte."

Nico exhaled. "I imagine our operation's about to get a lot less straightforward than I'd hoped when I first took it."

I was silent for a second before I spoke. "How _did_ you end up taking it? Have you always been on the New York branch?"

He shook his head. "No, I actually transferred from Italy—Rome, to be exact. I lived there with my sister, Bianca."

"How'd you two get recruited?"

"Our dad went to prison so times got tough. Bianca and I both had criminal records, which kinda makes it hard to get a job, you know? We were lucky some friends on the Rome branch managed to hook us up."

"Did Bianca come with you to New York?"

Nico's shoulders hunched a fraction. "Uh, no. She was admitted to hospital over there after getting shot during a mission. A bullet grazed her brain tissue."

I winced. "Shit. What state's she in?"

"Stable, but unresponsive. Her coma was originally medically induced but her brain activity dropped so low that the doctors can't coax her out of it."

"How long's she been under?" I asked.

A flicker of agitation crossed Nico's previously stoic expression. "Three months."

"Jesus."

"I know. I wish I could've stayed in Rome with her, but my transfer wasn't optional." He heaved a sigh. "Anyway. After the officers who first led this operation with Will got murdered, it was moved to higher priority. I asked if I could join it as an officer, and Will put in a good word for me." He gestured vaguely at himself. "So here I am."

Nico and I scoured the files for a good forty-five minutes after that, talking about nothing and everything. It was strange to me that I'd become comfortable with him and the others so quickly—social interaction had never been my strong point, but it was nice to have somehow gained friends to fall back on. In the past, I'd always only ever relied on myself for fear of knives in the back.

Eventually, I hit on a lead. I found myself reading over a file that detailed a group of assailants that had attacked one of our drug changeovers in Queens a few months ago. None of them had been captured, but it was believed that they'd belonged to Ugliano's gang due to the fact that a surviving witness had noticed a tell-tale black SPQR tattoo on one of their necks. "Here, look at this." I passed the file to Nico. He skimmed it as I continued. "Makes sense that the assailants were SPQR. I remember Gabe having a strong influence in Queens, due to the number of his forces that were stationed there."

Nico thought for a second. "There's a coke run scheduled around that area in a few days. You think it could be a prime target for Ugliano?"

"I doubt it. After Thalia and I intercepted his forces in Harlem yesterday, he's gonna be way more careful about where he makes his moves." Something occurred to me. "Unless there was a reason. Unless he had a real, tangible incentive to strike this drug run in particular."

He drummed his black fingernails on the desk. "What are you saying?"

"Think about it. Now we know for certain that Ugliano is aware I'm in New York, so close to his forces, we can play it to our advantage. He'll be waiting to apprehend me at the first opportunity he gets. Maybe if someone accidentally leaked the information that _I'd_ be negotiating at the Queens drug run, where he's strong..."

Nico's eyes widened. "I bet he'd send some real important officers to oversee the attempt to capture you. Interrogating a few of them could be invaluable—they'll know so much more about the inner workings of SPQR than a mere recruit."

"We'll work this out in a briefing tomorrow with Thalia and Will." I glanced up at the clock—somehow, it was already three in the morning. I stood up. "Let's get some sleep. We've got a big day tomorrow."

Nico grinned at me, his teeth sharp and white against the darkness. "If this works," he said, "we might finally unravel this mystery once and for all."

When I made it back to my room, I got ready for bed in an ambling kind of way. My mind was moving at a snail's pace because of how tired I was. I slipped under my sheets, now shirtless and in some pyjama pants, and pulled the new laptop I'd been given onto my lap. I intended to just check my emails to see if I'd received any word from Paris, but for some reason, I found myself typing in Annabeth's email. A moment passed while I stared at the blank draft. What the hell was I doing?

Before I could second-guess myself, I started typing. I poured my 3AM self out onto the page, talking about everything from the truth of how much I missed her to how I'd nearly finished _The Rose Society_. When I signed off, my finger hovered over the _Send_ button for a moment before clicking it with finality.

Somehow, my universe didn't collapse upon itself. I doubted she'd read it anyway.

* * *

Over the next few days, we spent most of our time planning the Queens mission. Using Will's connections, we spread word that I'd be negotiating the drug run to most of our underground sources in the city, ensuring that the leak of information seemed accidental. Despite the fact that it'd been my idea in the first place, I was still wracked with nerves about the whole thing. Using myself as bait for my stepdad's forces would've completely and utterly terrified my past self, and even now I was trying to keep my panic under control. Everything was being planned perfectly, and we were leaving no loose ends untied. Nothing was going to go south, but that knowledge couldn't stop me from worrying.

The mission was tomorrow, and we had a meeting with two officers that were in charge of the actual coke run in ten minutes. From what Thalia had told me, they too had been looking into the whole situation with SPQR for a while now, too—some of the New York branch's drug warehouses had been raided, and some of our own recruits had been killed in the process. Seeing as the drug supplies were under their jurisdiction, they also had a stake in the mission and had some more information to run by us.

Thalia and I were sitting in the briefing room, waiting for Will and the officers we were corresponding with to arrive; Nico was busy carrying out recon with his squad. I was bouncing my knee, unable to stop myself while Thalia looked over her reports. She glanced at me irritably, putting down her papers for a moment. "Stop fidgeting. I can't think."

"Sorry," I replied, and made a valiant effort to still my leg. Will walked in the door a few seconds later, followed by the two officers we'd been expecting. One was a tall guy with white-blonde hair and a scar over one of his eyes, leading from his brow to halfway down his cheek. And the other—the other was Annabeth.

She looked just as beautiful as I remembered. Maybe even more so. Her curly hair was pinned up in a messy bun atop her head, and her lips were tinted by pink chapstick. What was she doing here? Was she one of the officers working with us, or was I just hallucinating?

"Annabeth," I stuttered. All of a sudden I felt ridiculously self-conscious, like someone had stripped away my skin. They both sat down as she appraised me hollowly. The other guy—Luke—took off his jacket, laying it on the chair behind him. He was wearing a tank top underneath, and with a shock of surprise I noticed he had a large, black-ink wing tattoo draped down the back of his right arm. It was identical to Annabeth's and on the opposite side to hers. They must've gotten it together, implying they had history of some kind. It unsettled me.

"Hello," Annabeth said, emotionless. "This is Luke Castellan. As you know, the two of us have been organising the drug supplies and movements for most areas of New York." I glanced at Thalia, who gave me an apologetic look.

"It's good to meet you guys," Will replied, an ever-pleasant smile on his face. "So, I thought this evening we could go over the plans we've laid down for the Queens trap tomorrow, but I'm also aware that you two have some information to share which you recently came across."

Annabeth and Luke exchanged a glance, as though silently talking to one another. Stupidly, I found myself wishing that Annabeth and I had ever been able to communicate so straightforwardly and easily as that, without blatant misunderstandings and accidentally hurting one another.

Luke cleared his throat, leaning forward to rest his steepled fingers on the table. "Alright," he started. "For a while now, many of our drug runs, negotiations and warehouses have been attacked by an unidentifiable gang. They seemed to want to undermine the New York branch, maybe even cripple it. We've done what we can over the last couple months, but without knowing the identities of our assailants it's been damn near impossible to predict their next move. But," he paused, "now that you and your operatives seem to have traced the attacks back to SPQR, we're hoping to turn the tide."

Annabeth cut in. "The situation is only going to escalate unless we take immediate action. I believe that there's corruption on both our side _and_ theirs, like undercover recruits hidden amongst our squads and turncoats who used to work for us that now use their connections to assist Ugliano. We have little chance of digging out all of these moles, so I'm certain that we need to go on the offensive and start making SPQR scared of us again."

I tapped my nails on the table, thinking over her words. "So, what do you propose we do?" I asked. "The mission we're carrying out during your drug negotiation in Queens tomorrow ought to expose Ugliano's intentions, but past that…"

Annabeth's slate-grey eyes were callous against my own. "We need to carry out a large-scale covert operation," she said. "Try and seize control over Ugliano's influence. Our New York branch has been deteriorating for a while now due to SPQR's efforts, and this could be our chance to re-establish our position as the major underground power in the city."

"And if the Queens mission tomorrow goes to plan, the new intelligence we gather might be the first foothold we'll need to attain that goal," Will mused. "But even if we manage to capture and interrogate several of Ugliano's officers, we'll still be limited. I doubt any of them will be privy to any of his long-term plans against the New York branch. The most we'll get out of them will be the inner practicalities workings of SPQR and hopefully some of the immediate actions they mean to take."

"I know," Annabeth admitted. "And the actual locations of most of his headquarters remain a mystery to us. But we were hoping…"

"That might not be a problem," I said. "Although it was a long time ago that I worked for him, it's unlikely much has changed. I know where a lot of his bases are, where Ugliano himself holds briefings with his officers. I can write up a report tonight detailing as much as I can remember."

At that, Luke's gaze slid over me. It was cold, almost nauseating. "That's right. You're his stepson, aren't you?"

I shifted, uncomfortable. "Yeah. So what?"

Luke smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "No reason. Just…I was wondering how strong your allegiance to him still is."

Anger crashed through me faster than I could think. "What allegiance?" I spat. "I want him taken down more than you do. In fact, I'd love to bury him six feet under."

"Sit down, Percy," Annabeth interrupted.

I realised I'd stood up subconsciously. I sat back down, still glaring at Luke who looked satisfied to have gotten a rise out of me. "Whatever. My point is, I have more of a reason than any of you to want us to be successful. Don't test me."

Luke raised his hands in surrender. The gesture was almost mocking. "Sorry, Jackson. Didn't realise I'd struck a sore spot." He carded a hand through his fair hair. "Anyway, I figure we should start planning this new operation as soon as we have the info from the Queens mission tomorrow. We should start with a week of reconnaissance, then go from there."

Thalia nodded slowly. "Sounds reasonable. Nico and I can start carrying out some interrogations amongst our own ranks. If we manage to sniff out a few moles and gain some more intel, weakening SPQR will be way easier."

"I'll need to take all this to the higher-ups to get clearance to go forward," Will added. "We'll need as much support as we can gather to pull this shit off."

"I'll handle the recon," I decided. "Once I've drafted up all the locations of SPQR's bases, I can work out an itinerary and organise my squad. I'm fairly certain that we'll need to focus the majority of our efforts in Manhattan and Queens."

The others nodded, except for Annabeth. "Wait," she started. "My squad specialises in reconnaissance. I should lead that mission."

"It makes more sense if I do it," I insisted. "I know how Ugliano ticks."

Thalia rolled her eyes. "Lead it together—you may as well combine forces."

I raised a brow in Annabeth's direction. "Got a problem with that?"

She shook her head. "No," she responded, somewhat stiffly. I wanted to ask why the hell she was acting like this, but now wasn't the time.

The meeting went on for a while. Thalia, Will and I briefed the others on the technicalities of how the Queens mission would unfold, and they talked about how they'd need to alter the scheduled negotiation during the drug run according to our correspondence. Annabeth and I couldn't begin to plan our reconnaissance until I'd drafted notes on all the locations and proceedings I remembered from my time with SPQR, so we tabled that discussion for another time.

Soon enough, we'd finished. Annabeth and Luke left to head back to their own base, Luke's arm slung over her shoulder as they talked quietly. I felt frustrated; it was like everything that'd happened between us in Paris was somehow null and void. I headed back to my room with a sigh, digging my hands into my pockets. Hopefully things would get clearer over the next couple days.

The pressure of a hand on my shoulder startled me as I was walking down the hallway to my room. I spun around to see Thalia. She looked concerned. "Hey, you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry."

Thalia's lips were pressed in a grim line. "It was shitty for her to behave like that. Not even acknowledge you."

"Honestly, Thalia, it's fine. She doesn't owe me anything."

"Maybe not, but it's not okay to pretend you don't even exist. I should talk to her."

"No, don't." I exhaled sharply. "I know why she's doing it. She thinks if she turns her back and decides she doesn't know me anymore, then everything will go back to how it was."

Thalia frowned. "But it won't."

I dropped my head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. "I know that."

Thalia took my sleeve, guiding my attention back to her. Her voice was gentle when she spoke. "She's just trying to protect you, Percy. It's stupid, but that's what's going through her head right now. She doesn't want to hurt you or—or make you resent her."

I closed my eyes. "I don't resent her. I could never. It's just…it's not Annabeth's responsibility to keep me safe. And she's deluded if she thinks staying away will keep me out of the line of fire."

Thalia let go of my sleeve, giving me a warm smile. "After you draft up that info on SPQR, get some sleep, yeah? You won't be doing yourself any favours if you're dead on your feet for the mission tomorrow."

"Okay," I said quietly. "You too." As Thalia left, I unlocked my room and stepped inside. I had a lot of work to do.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! can I just say I have so much love for those who've been reviewing? y'all have a special place in my heart xx**

 **I wrote most of this chapter while listening to the 1975's new album, NOACF. This chapter's title is one of the song names lmao (I'm not even sorry). The album's hella vibey, so go give it a try if you haven't listened to it yet!**

 **If you have, which are your fave tracks? I really like Tonight—it kinda sounds like a fried, melted pop song. If You're Too Shy is great as well. Also, I fell in love with The Birthday Party back when it was released (the goddamn lyricism. fuck me). Frail State of Mind is an amazing social anxiety anthem, related way too hard :') And Jesus Christ 2005? MY BI ASS ALMOST SOBBED. thank u matty healy.**


	19. Make This Chaos Count

**CHAPTER 19: MAKE THIS CHAOS COUNT**

ANNABETH

Early the next morning after I'd seen Percy for the first time since Paris, I stood anxiously outside an old, disused library in Queens. My squad were preparing themselves by heading to their stations in and around the building just as I'd instructed, and Luke was organising the drug supplies our recruits had transported here. The negotiation was due to begin fairly soon—our client was a wealthy businessman who no doubt had connections of his own. Percy and Thalia were busy talking with their own recruits, ensuring that they were all prepared for SPQR's inevitable assault. Frankly, his idea to tempt his stepdad by leaking his own whereabouts was inspired. It'd work, too.

Since yesterday, I hadn't been able to get my mind off him. He looked so different from when I'd left him in Paris; his hair had been cut short and dyed back to its natural colour. The undercut style kind of suited him as his hair no longer shadowed his piercing green eyes. I hadn't expected him to change so much in such a short period of time, but it seemed like he had.

Even though I'd never show it, I was glad he'd followed me to New York. Leaving things between us in such an ugly state would have torn me apart eventually. I just wanted to protect him, however misguided that notion might be. And yeah, maybe it was safer for him back in Paris where he'd been far away from Ugliano, but I'd gotten used to having him near me and I was slowly coming to the realisation that I wasn't quite ready to give that up yet.

Through my comm set, I heard Thalia's voice. " _Alright, defence squads are hidden and in position. The client is due to arrive in fifteen minutes. Stay alert._ "

I headed into the building, intending to take my place. I was one of the officers negotiating, the other of whom was Percy—his visibility was imperative if we wanted the trap to work. I couldn't procrastinate talking to him any longer. As I walked up to where he stood by the supplies, I felt my heartbeat quicken. I gritted my teeth, strengthening my resolve. "Jackson," I called.

He spun, one of his hands on the holster of the gun at his belt. Still, he relaxed when he saw it was only me. "Oh, hey." He checked his watch. "It's not long now."

I nodded, leaning against the crate of crack cocaine we'd be trading with the client. A million thoughts clamoured to spill from my tongue, but I still wasn't sure what to say. Percy and I had left things on such a strange note. Where did we go from here? Hesitantly, I said, "You changed your hair."

Almost self-consciously, Percy reached up to touch his hair, then his hand fell away. "The red was too hard to keep up. Thalia did it." A pause. "Is it alright?"

"Oh, yeah," I said quickly. "Yeah, don't worry. It looks nice. Black hair suits you." _You look incredible,_ I should've said.

Percy smiled, a small curve of his lips. "Thank you."

Something warmed in my chest; I hadn't realised how much I'd missed him. Suddenly, it seemed ridiculous that we'd ever been apart at all. I wanted to tell him how stupid I'd been, how I should've dragged him with me rather than leave him, but the words got stuck in my throat. Instead, I said, "I'm grateful that you came to America. I know I haven't really acted like it, but...I am. Leaving you in Paris felt awful."

He fidgeted with his sleeve, which hung over his knuckles. The stupid urge to take his hand and gently roll them up struck me. "I'm glad," he said softly. "I wasn't sure if I was doing the right thing. The whole hellish plane ride over here, I just kept wondering and wondering if I was being an idiot." He shook his head and laughed. "God. It's just so surreal."

I cocked my head. "What is?"

He made an empty, encompassing gesture with his hand. "Everything. Leaving Paris behind. Living in New York again." He reached out, and for a second I thought he'd take my hand, but he just brushed his knuckle against my own. A familiar touch. "Seeing you again."

I offered him a smile back. "I really fucking missed you, you know."

He was quiet for a moment. "I know." I was suddenly overtaken by the need to hug him, to hold him in my arms and bury my head into his shoulder. We couldn't, though. Not now. Not here. Percy seemed to understand, so he laced his fingers between mine for a moment. I let go first, but not without squeezing his hand.

Over comms, Thalia's voice echoed into my ear again. " _The client is being escorted into the building. Something doesn't feel right about this, Chase. He has a squad of bodyguards with him, and I think I might've seen an SPQR tattoo on one of their wrists. Stay alert; Ugliano's men will no doubt strike as soon as the drug transfer is over."_

Just as Thalia had said, the library's old wooden doors swung open to reveal a group of eight men. One of them was grey-haired and wore a sleek suit—presumably our client—and the other seven of them were clad in black gear. They didn't have any visible weapons, but there was no doubt in my mind that they were armed. I wondered which were SPQR members. Maybe all of them were.

I watched carefully for their reactions to Percy. With his new dark hair, I knew he probably looked far more like his younger self than he had with his red hair and was therefore instantly recognisable.

Beside me, I realised that Percy's hands were shaking. Unable to do much else, I shot him a glance. _You okay?_

A slight nod.

The older man stepped forward into a shaft of bleach-bright sunlight that fell from the library's broken roof, letting his guards fall back in a loose semi-circle behind him. He flashed me a sickly-sweet smile, then turned around to take a leather briefcase from one of the men behind him. "Hello," he said. His voice was hoarse, undoubtedly a result of years of smoking substances. Rich white men were always so predictable. "This briefcase contains exactly five thousand American dollars. You got what I asked for?"

I plastered a smile on my face, mirroring his own. "Of course. May we check within the case? As a formality."

He shrugged. I imagined five thousand dollars was pretty much pocket change to him. "Go ahead."

Percy stepped forward and took the suitcase. To his credit, he'd managed to stop his hands shaking, betraying none of his fear. I watched as he clicked the case open and deftly checked through the bound stacks of notes. "Seems like it's all here," he decided, and snapped the suitcase shut.

We stepped aside to allow a couple of the client's bodyguards to step forward and take the crate, but then several things happened at once. One of the other guards raised his gun to shoot the two men who'd stepped forward square in the head. They fell to the library's floorboards with a hollow thump. _Those two probably weren't SPQR._

Percy and I reacted at the same time; I drew my gun and shot the guard on the left in the leg while Percy nimbly dodged their blows and rammed the handle of his gun into a guard's temple, making him crumple to his knees. Suppressed gunshots from our own defence quads rang out all around us, piercing the rest of the SPQR officers in nonlethal areas. Each of them toppled, crying out in pain.

"Get behind me," I said to Percy, raising my gun.

He scoffed. "Gabe wants me captured, not dead. They'll have no qualms about shooting you."

Thalia's voice crackled over my comm set again. " _Around twenty SPQR members have attacked and crippled our forces outside the building. They're coming in. Be ready, and for the love of God don't let them apprehend Jackson._ "

Hardly a second later, a group of gang members holding rifles crashed through the library's doors. Our defence squads slipped out of the shadows, already returning fire. I stood my ground, slicing bullets between the eyes of as many of them as I could. I knew we were supposed to keep some of them alive to interrogate, but it was impossible to hold back my anger. I wasn't letting them take Percy.

It was a bloodbath. A stray bullet ploughed into the flesh of my arm, but my system was so flooded by fiery adrenaline that I barely felt the pain. The shooting went on for what felt like forever, but we'd come prepared with plenty of reinforcements. SPQR hadn't known that we knew they'd been intending to strike, so it was inevitable that we'd overpower them.

We captured eight officers, two of which bit into their poison teeth in a bid to protect SPQR's secrets. The other five—the self-preserving ones—instead spat furious curses at us as we clapped them in handcuffs and pressed gags into their mouths. Everything seemed weirdly quiet, now that the fighting was over. I knew we had to clear out of here as soon as possible; the police undoubtedly would've heard the commotion.

"Annabeth? You alright?" Percy's voice sounded echoey to me. I felt my gun thud out of my hand as the pain from my shoulder registered.

I leaned against him, finding solidarity in his strength. "I'm fine," I managed, even as my other hand rose to press against the ragged wound on my shoulder. My fingers came away red, which didn't quite compute in my sluggish mind. Had I been shot? "It's just a graze," I insisted, but my words came out all slurred.

Percy's brow furrowed as he supported me, scanning my expression. I kind of wanted to touch that little dip between his brows, smooth it out. "You're bleeding," he said, touching my arm. My knees started to quiver, threatening to give way, but Percy slung his arm under my shoulders to keep me upright. "You're gonna be okay," he reassured me, then frantically called to anyone who'd listen, "She's injured! Someone, help me get her into a med-van! Please!"

I looked up at his face. "Thanks, Percy," I mumbled. "You're really sweet." Was that a normal thing to say?

My eyes fell to half-mast as I felt someone else's arm slip under my other shoulder. "Annabeth, can you hear me?" I heard Percy ask. I could, but my reply faded on my lips as I slipped away into unconsciousness.

I jolted awake, blinded by a fluorescent light above me. My upper left arm was wrapped in gauze, and I couldn't really move my other hand. Someone was holding it.

As my vision returned, everything came back to me in a flash. The fight, my gunshot wound. I turned my head to see a familiar pair of green eyes looking down at me. _Percy._ There was that little furrow in his brow again. "Are you okay?" I mumbled.

He laughed, relief flowing out of him. "Me? You're the one who took a bullet to the arm. You're lucky. The medics said it was mainly superficial. The bleeding's already stopped." He brushed a rebellious strand of hair out of my face.

I groaned, pressing a hand to my head. It took me a moment to realise I'd lifted my injured arm rather than my other one as there was barely even a twinge of pain. My first guess was that they had me on some kind of painkiller. "God, I can't believe I fucking fainted."

Percy's thumb was tracing circles on my palm. "You were in shock," he said. "And you weren't out for long—we're still in the med van, on our way back to base." That seemed to be true; I could hear the grumble of an engine, and New York was blurring past us outside the van's window. "We're having to take a few wrong turns, in case any of Ugliano's men are on our tail."

I sat up, with Percy's assistance. Now that my head was clear, I checked over Percy for injuries. He looked like he was fine. "Thanks for staying with me," I said.

Percy shrugged. "Why wouldn't I? You'd do the same for me." I didn't have time to think about the truth of that statement, as Percy went on. "Plus, we're gonna need to join the others for interrogation when we get back. There's no time to lose."

"Hopefully, the officer's will give up some information we can use for our reconnaissance mission," I mused. The idea of leading a mission with Percy had seemed like hell before, but now I was just glad that we could...what? Try and fix things? Continue from where we'd left off? Time would tell.

Percy nodded. A medic behind him leaned over to check on my arm. "Feeling better, Miss Chase?"

"Yes, thanks," I replied, giving them a grateful look. With a nod, they left, moving to work on another recruit that lay unconscious on the other stretcher. At the reminder of what had happened, I sighed. "How many of us died? The fight was pretty brutal."

Percy grimaced. "Eight. Three times as many as that are injured." At my look of horror, he quickly said, "But it could've been way worse. We overwhelmed them quickly."

"I know, I know." I dragged my gaze back up to his. I reached up almost involuntarily and let my fingertips whisper down the side of his face, connecting his brow to his cheekbone to the slant of his jaw. He leaned into my touch ever so slightly. "I'm really happy you're okay. That they didn't take you."

"You'd never have let that happen," Percy grinned, but the joke fell flat. We both knew the distances we'd each travel to protect one another—something which we hadn't realised before, back in Paris. At least, until we'd kissed on the compound's roof under the city's dusky winter sky.

"I regret walking away from you," I said. "After we kissed."

He was silent for a heartbeat, then another. "Still, I understand why you did."

"Do you?" I pressed. Was that cruel of me?

Percy's eyes were searing, a blue-green flame. His thumb stilled where it'd been drawing circles on my skin. "Yeah, I do." How did he make that sound so selfless? "You thought keeping me at arm's length was safer for both of us. You thought that if you acted like nothing had ever changed between us then it'd hurt less to leave me and that things would go back to the way they'd been."

My heart was a weight in my throat. "I was scared. It was shitty of me to drag you back into your old life. I should've—"

"Done what?" he asked. "Never met me in the first place? Come on, I was always going to fall back into this life. It was just a matter of when." His tone softened, and his gaze dropped to where our hands were intertwined. "I wouldn't trade you for the world. Even if God walked up to me and said, _Look, you can have a normal life, but only if you never see her again,_ I'd tell him to go screw himself. I love you, Annabeth. I told you before."

I kind of wanted to cry, right then. Instead, I let out a shaky breath and pressed my head into his shoulder. "I think...I think I love you too," I murmured. The words resounded, like a thousand realisations crashing through me all at once.

"Then don't walk away from me again. We're good together."

I lifted my head to meet his eyes. "I know we are," I said softly. Before I could think twice, I leaned forward and pressed my lips gently to his, unassuming as anything. He kissed me back, reaching up to grasp the back of my neck. This boy was all soft edges and dark eyelashes, but I didn't think anyone could see past his scars and anger except me.

When we pulled apart, we rested our heads together for a second, smiling giddily into each other's mouths like we were in some fucking rom-com. "I love you," Percy repeated.

I laughed, pushing him away. "I love you too, you big sap." And hell, that word was so incongruous to the complex creature that was Percy Jackson that I could do nothing but sink into laughter, letting him kiss me again.

When we made it back to base, there was plenty to be done. Despite the medic telling me to take it easy, I ignored her and slipped back into the role of officer as easily as breathing. Percy disappeared for a while to give a final briefing to his squad before letting them go and rest, and I went to correspond with Thalia about the captives.

They'd all been transported to separate interrogation rooms, and routine questioning had already been carried out by the time I'd arrived. Thalia handed me a sheet, detailing each of their names. "A couple of them have tried to fight back, but I'm willing to bet it won't take us long to break them down. I've assigned you and Jackson to the one who's being particularly difficult. We'll handle the others."

"Sounds good," I replied. "Give me the key to his room. Percy'll be here in a moment."

At that, Thalia smirked. "So. You and Jackson, huh? I was under the impression you'd tried to cut things off between you."

I rolled my eyes. "Get out of here, Grace. Go interrogate your captive. Maybe then you can put your nosiness to good use."

She left me with a good-natured laugh, giving me the key I needed. It was cool and heavy in my palm, a brass skeleton key. I headed down to where the captive was being held after quickly shooting Percy a text that I was starting the interrogation without him. He replied instantly. _I'm on my way, sweetheart._

Ignoring the 'sweetheart' comment, I answered with _You better be_ and slipped my phone back into my pocket. Hopefully, the interrogation wouldn't be too violent. After getting shot, I was feeling queasier than usual.

Percy, surprisingly, made it there at the same time as me. "Did you run here?" I asked, slipping the key Thalia had given me into the lock.

He grinned. "Nah. Power-walked."

Together, we pushed open the interrogation room's door. It was second-nature to slip a mask of indifference over my face, and I looked over to see that Percy had done the same.

The officer was sitting at a metal table, hands cuffed before him. When he noticed us walk in, his features contorted with contempt. He spat on the desk. "Fuck off. I don't need to tell you anything."

I shared a glance with Percy as we both sat down in the two chairs opposite the man. I'd carried out a lot of interrogations over the course of my life, and I knew how to keep the upper hand away from the captive. Once they felt powerless, it was easier to pry whatever you needed to know out of them. Of course, first we had to find out what it exactly _was_ that we needed to know. Silently, I looked down at the sheet Thalia had given me. On it, it said he'd identified himself as Cecil Parker. Whether or not that was true, I didn't know. But it hardly mattered—his name wasn't important.

"Mr. Parker," I began, leaning forward to lace my fingers together on the table. "We don't wish to harm you. But your safety is tied to your compliance, so I hope you'll learn to see our side of things." Palmer didn't bother to reply, so I continued. "I'm going to start by asking where you're ranked within SPQR. This will be over faster if you don't lie."

He laughed. "Do you think you're fucking intimidating, blondie?"

Beside me, Percy tensed. I noticed a muscle in his jaw twitch in my peripheral. To his credit, though, he only let a flicker of his anger show. Evenly, he said, "You might regret saying that." Parker's gaze snapped to Percy, and I was satisfied by the fear that passed behind his eyes. I knew _I_ didn't look like much to be afraid of, but Parker probably took Percy's scarred face and aggressive demeanour seriously. Though Percy didn't often intend to be, he was terrifying at times.

Parker swallowed, seemingly unable to look away from Percy. I realised something. Parker was undoubtedly aware that Percy was Ugliano's son. I mean, he had to be; Percy had been his target, the subject of his mission. It was likely that Percy's reputation preceded him—Ugliano himself was known to be brutal, one of the most violent gang leaders in America. It made sense that Parker was afraid of what his stepson might be capable of, as well.

I wondered if I could use that to our advantage. Hopefully, Percy would play along. "I'll ask you again," I said. "Are you an officer? A lieutenant? How close are you to the top?" And before Parker could say anything, I held up a finger. "Think long and hard what you say next. Jackson here will be more than happy to rough you up if he decides you're lying."

At that, Parker looked somewhat petrified. Percy seemed to catch on to what I was trying to do, and an unsettling grin stretched across his face. He stood up, cracking his scarred knuckles. "So? Answer her."

Parker paled. "Okay, okay!" he relented. "I'm an officer. I work for one of Ugliano's lieutenants."

I smiled. Maybe we were finally getting somewhere. I clicked my pen open, ready to press it to paper. "Which lieutenant?"

One hour and one bloody nose later, Parker had revealed a lot of viable information to us about SPQR. We'd found out the main reason behind Ugliano's agenda against us was that he'd discovered—earlier than we'd thought—that Percy had joined our organisation's branch in Paris. Parker had also spilled plenty of shit about Ugliano's burgeoning drug empire. And as _we_ were the main underground supplier in New York City, that was just another reason for him to want to take us down from the inside.

Still, all that information paled in comparison to the last thing Parker told us. Wiping his freshly oozing, bloody nose on his shoulder—courtesy of a punch from Percy—he spat out the locations of several of SPQR's new bases. Ones that Percy hadn't had any knowledge of, due to the fact they'd only been created after he ran away. It made sense that Gabe wanted his main places of power to be unknown to his turncoat of a stepson, but to me it seemed like overkill. There was no explanation other than that he might be planning to attempt some sort ofcoup, if you could call it that.

As we left Parker once more at the mercy of Thalia to see if she could dredge any more information out of him, Percy and I stepped into the base's elevator which would take us back up to the ground floor. My mind was whirling with possibilities. We'd need to start planning our reconnaissance mission as soon as possible. And with the information Parker had yielded, we now had a starting point.

Beside me, Percy let out a sigh. He was running the pad of his thumb over his knuckles which he'd bruised on Parker's face. He said, "If we're ever going to take down Gabe, we're going to need to work out how to destroy SPQR from the inside out."

"Easier said than done. It's a huge gang. They've got roots everywhere in the city, even throughout the rest of the country." I shook my head. "Maybe we can try and cause some sort of chain reaction or knock-on effect. If we cripple the leadership, the rest of SPQR will be forced to their knees."

He nodded. "We'll need to act fast. Ugliano's probably already planning his counterattack after how badly today unfolded for him. I doubt he'll be content to take the loss lying down."

The elevator dinged and thudded to a stop, brass doors sliding open. As we walked out, I turned to Percy and offered him a comforting smile. "Well, we're working together now. I don't mind our odds."

Percy laughed. "We'll be unstoppable." He glanced down at his watch. "It's late. Do you need to head back to your base?"

I really didn't want to leave. "I guess so," I said. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, yeah? Nine 'o' clock. We need to get ahead with planning."

"Sure," he replied. "Just can't wait to spend more time with me, huh?"

I elbowed him. "Fuck off."

"Always so cruel, Chase." He turned to leave, calling over his shoulder, "See you tomorrow!"

"I hate you!" I yelled after him.

He laughed. "You love me." I flipped him off, but still couldn't stop myself from smiling.

* * *

 **as always, thanks for reading, especially if you've reviewed! I appreciate feedback so, so much :)**

 **you can find the aesthetic board at my pinterest, _suicidal_stolen_art_**


	20. A Life Still Permanent

**CHAPTER 20: A LIFE STILL PERMANENT**

PERCY

Over the next week or so, Annabeth and I worked non-stop on carrying out dozens of reconnaissance operations regarding the information we'd gleaned from Parker. We had little success—all of SPQR's bases were well-hidden, strong, and pretty much impenetrable without a single helping hand on the inside. I wasn't surprised that the New York branch had never uncovered their existence before now. Our squads worked in tandem to complete surveillance missions around them, hoping to discover a weakness, but everything that we found out only cemented our suspicions that taking down SPQR in a controlled manner was damn near impossible. Blood would be spilled. I was sure of it.

Since I'd arrived in New York, I'd tried to stay in contact with everyone back in Paris. Of course, I had to send Sir a report at the end of each week that detailed the progress we'd made in order to keep him in the loop, but he wasn't the only one. Reyna had been relentless with her phone calls, which I was grateful for, though our rambling, late-night conversations were probably sending my phone bill through the roof.

Jason and I had also spoken a few times, and he'd updated me on the base's strained atmosphere and Sir's growing moodiness. Things were falling apart over there. Apparently, Jason had been dragged into the ring on fight night; his death pool bounty had been slowly getting higher and higher due to Cupid's interference. He'd managed to duck out with only a split lip and a black eye, but that didn't reassure me. I'd been hoping that Cupid's stint in hospital would cause the animosity from his allies towards Jason to dissipate, but it hadn't.

The only good thing Grace had told me was that he'd been to Versailles several times to visit Piper in rehab, like I'd asked him to. She'd been reserved and cold in her calls with me which had been worrying at first, but Jason had reassured me that she was doing better. " _When I first went over_ ," he'd said, voice crackly over the phone, " _she was kind of bitter and rude about me being there, but I don't think she minds my company. At least she's been, you know, smiling more. Talking about her future."_

From the ardent way Jason spoke about Piper, it was easy to wonder if there was something between them. Or if there might be soon. Time would tell. To be honest, I was just glad that Piper had someone other than myself in her corner now that Roxanne was gone. That loss was still raw and bleeding for both of us.

Friday rolled around. It was late and I was lying on my stomach on my bed with my laptop in front of me, thinking about having a cigarette. I'd been trying to sleep but my thoughts were occupied by our ongoing reconnaissance operation. My stepdad had been after me for as long as I'd been on the run, and my last survival instincts were screaming at me to pack a bag and take the first flight back to Paris. Still, I had to see this through. Anyway, there wasn't a chance in hell I was leaving Annabeth. She'd been the first person in a long time to give me a sense of hope, however slight.

I closed my laptop, plunging my room into darkness save for the wisps of moonlight curling in from between my blinds. I pulled a hoodie and some socks on, intending to step out onto my balcony for a few minutes for a smoke. Suddenly, I was interrupted by a knock on my door. Wondering who was here so late at night, I padded to the door and opened it. To my surprise, Annabeth was standing there.

It'd been a few days since she'd moved to our base as it was just more convenient for our mission. Her curly hair was in a messy low ponytail, draped over her bare shoulder. She was barefoot and wearing only an oversized t-shirt and cotton shorts. I'd long decided that there was something ethereal about Annabeth in pyjamas. I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. "Uh, hi."

She was smiling, brimming with excitement. "Percy. I'm sorry to wake you, but this is important. One of our agents has managed to pay off an SPQR recruit to submit to questioning in exchange for his protection from Ugliano's wrath. He gave us a _lot_ of useful information. Most of it we knew already, thanks to the captives we interrogated, but he also told us the location of SPQR's most recent diplomatic hideouts where Ugliano makes his more classified deals."

My brain wasn't working fast enough this late at night, and it took me a moment to process what she'd said. "Wait. Slow down. A diplomatic hideout?"

Annabeth nodded. "Yeah. It's a tiny building in Astoria, Queens. No one in the New York branch has ever looked at it twice but apparently it's actually a hotspot for gang activity."

I folded my arms, nodding slowly. "Okay. But why's all this so useful?"

"Well, our informant told us that Ugliano has some sort of gathering planned in an illegal speakeasy that's hidden beneath the building, and that he intends to use it to garner alliances from gangs all over New York."

"If he succeeds in pitting most of the underground powers in the city against us, we're fucked."

"I know. Our informant didn't know much more about it except the date: February 27th."

I stared at her. "But that's in two days."

"It's enough time," Annabeth said. She then glanced back down the hallway, raising a brow. "Can I come in? It feels weird to do this in the hallway."

Realising I probably should've invited her in as soon as she'd shown up, I quickly stepped back, rubbing my neck sheepishly. "Sorry, yeah. Come in, I'll make you a coffee." I turned the light on and started boiling some water as Annabeth closed the door behind us. She sat down on the foot of my bed and waited while I finished the coffee, pouring it into a white mug. "Do you want milk in it?"

"No, thanks." She took the mug from me, careful not to burn her hand on the hot ceramic.

"Can we talk on the balcony, if that's alright?" I asked. "I was about to go for a fag."

"Yeah, sure." Before I knew it, she'd stepped outside. I grabbed my box of cigarettes from the pocket of my jacket and hurried after her, grabbing a throw blanket off my bed for Annabeth.

She was leaning against the railing, and judging by the goosebumps rippling across her arms, she was already cold. Leaving the screen door open an inch so we could get back in, I offered her the blanket. It was made of soft, heavy wool. "Here."

She took it, smiling up at me. "Thank you."

"Don't worry about it," I replied. I lit a cigarette, leaning against the metal railing. "So, the 27th? We'll be hard-pressed to get much organised before then."

Annabeth adjusted the blanket so it completely covered her shoulders and blew on the surface of her coffee. "I know, but this is our best lead yet. This could be our chance to take down SPQR."

The smoke from my cigarette lingered, ghostly, in the brisk night air. Below us, the road was a cacophony of far-away car horns. The traffic lights were jarring in the darkness, spilling out their technicolour light. "So, what do you propose we do?" I asked.

"We'll go down there tomorrow morning," Annabeth said. "As soon as possible. We'll hide out somewhere in the building's vicinity and just note down anything we see. Hopefully Ugliano's forces will be hiding in plain sight."

I hummed, flicking the ash off my fag. "We need to find out more about the event that Gabe's intending to host in this hidden speakeasy. If we have any hope of crashing it, we'll need to work out how to slip in unnoticed."

"We have the element of surprise on our side," she mused. "There's no reason why SPQR would suspect that we've learned about this. And the gathering's probably under high security, so I figure Ugliano won't have a problem showing his face." She shook her head. "I just don't know how he's going to pull it off. If our informant was right about how many gangs will be in attendance, then they'll be practically spitting in each other's faces. Some rivalries run deep. I doubt they'll ever be united just by Gabe inciting an alliance against us."

I sighed. "There's no point in speculating until we know more. Guess it's an early start tomorrow."

Her face was unreadable. "Yeah. Guess so."

As I worked on my cigarette, Annabeth sipped away at her coffee. Her hands were curled around her mug for warmth, and I noticed that her nails were painted a dusty blue. "Nice colour," I said, gesturing to her nails.

"You like it? It'd been a while since I'd painted them, so I just thought..." She shrugged. "It's therapeutic."

"Maybe I should try it," I joked.

When no reply came, I glanced down at Annabeth. She was staring out at the city, an absent look on her face. Above us, a shaft of moonlight slipped past the cloud that'd been concealing it. It fell over us and caught on Annabeth's eyelashes, making them look silver. Almost transparent. Even if I had been able to look away, I wouldn't have wanted to. "Do you ever..." She shook her head. "Never mind."

"What?"

"It's not important."

"It is," I insisted.

Annabeth met my eyes, and I felt like I'd been wrenched out of orbit. She sighed, turning back to the city. "Do you ever think about leaving?"

I wasn't sure what to say to that. "Leaving? As in, running away?" I almost laughed. "That was kinda the last seven years of my life. Didn't turn out too good."

"No, I don't mean running away. I just meant..." She paused, frustration bleeding into her tone. "The dream of disappearing. A new identity, the freedom of nobody remembering your face. Being able to fuck off and start a new life far away from here."

This time, I really did laugh. My life had never been anything but temporary; every day on the streets had always had me longing for permanence. "If that was possible, of course I'd do it."

"Do you really mean that?"

"Well, yeah."

Annabeth's gaze scoured my face. "So you'd never see anyone you love ever again, just to leave your past behind?"

I stopped to think for a moment. Put like that, I wasn't sure if I would. Paris had been my home for a long time now, and the thought of never setting foot there again seemed insane to me. I couldn't just leave Piper in rehab and act like she'd never existed at all. Exhaling a final puff of smoke, I ground my cigarette butt into the ashtray on the railing. Annabeth was still looking at me, expectant. "I don't know," I said, relenting. "I would never choose this life, but that doesn't change the fact that it's _my_ life." I stared at the rippling ash on the tray before me, then let out a hoarse laugh. "Anyway, it'd be kinda shitty of me to ditch you without saying goodbye."

I looked up to see Annabeth smiling at me. "You got that right, Jackson." She pressed a barely-there kiss to my cheek, but even that half-touch was a flyaway ember burning deep into my skin. With a sigh, she rested her head on my shoulder. "I'd quite like to leave, after all this. You and me. A one-way ticket, a change of clothes. See which gutter we end up in."

And hell, that sounded so close to heaven that I wanted to scream. I didn't want to fall into the fantasy, but the soft warmth of Annabeth leaning on my shoulder was doing things to my head. "Rome, maybe," I mused. "Or Crete. We could gorge ourselves on crappy tourist food, take some stupid photos."

"We could see the ruins of Aptera," Annabeth murmured. "The Coliseum. Go to Venice, travel the canals on a gondola."

"I don't know. Just staying alive sounds good to me."

Annabeth snuggled closer to me. "As long as we're together."

It was impossible. A pipe dream. I turned and pressed my nose into her hair, inhaling the smell of her lemon shampoo. Right now, everything could've been okay. Still, I knew I was only lying to myself. "We can't, though," I said carefully. "If I left, the last line of defence separating me from my stepdad would crumble away. Without Sir's protection, there'd be a bullet in my head before long." A lump was forming in my throat. " _After this_ isn't possible. It doesn't exist. Not for us."

"But it could," Annabeth said. She pulled away, but only slightly. Her blanket was starting to slip, so I readjusted it so she wouldn't get cold. "Percy. Look at me." I did. "The whole point of this mission is to topple SPQR. If we do, you'll be free."

Her words fell on deaf ears. I shook my head, knowing hope was a futile concept. "No. No. As long as he's alive—"

"He won't be for much longer," Annabeth said, gaze fierce as anything. "Not if I have anything to do with it."

"Annabeth—"

She grabbed my hand, all gentleness gone from her expression. I had to look down, fixing my eyes on where the twisted scars on my knuckles disappeared under her slim fingers. "Percy. You don't need to be afraid anymore. You're stronger than him; you always have been."

"I'm not."

"You are. You are. God—" Her voice cracked. "I promise you, we will kill him. He deserves to be dead."

My consciousness was whirling with a thousand unquiet thoughts. I couldn't think. "When I was a kid, you have no idea how often I wanted that to be true." My voice was small, smaller than I wished it was. I half-expected tears to start crying or something, but instead the blank vacuum in my chest felt even more vast and gaping. Everywhere was numb, from my lungs to my icy fingertips.

"That he was dead?" Annabeth asked. Not patronising, just trying to make sense of the world in the way she always did.

"That he deserved to be," I replied quietly.

Anger tore across Annabeth's face, a flash of lightning. "What? Percy, he does _._ You know that." She paused. "Right?"

In that moment, I felt more vulnerable than I ever had in my entire life. I pushed away the feeling, making myself go on. "When I was younger," I started, "I believed in God. And I know it sounds stupid, but I just kept hoping that...that He would intervene. Because Gabe deserved it, right? He hurt my mom. He hurt me. I thought that God might make him, I don't know, die in his sleep or something. But..." I shrugged. "When it never happened, I had to question if he really deserved to be dead at all."

Annabeth didn't falter, didn't let go of my hand. Instead, she gripped it tighter. An anchor. When she spoke, her voice was firm and unwavering. "If I could go back in time, I'd make sure he never laid a fucking finger on you or your mom."

"But you can't."

"I know," she said. Those two words sounded like echoes. "Doesn't stop me from wanting to." She returned her head to where it had been on my shoulder. I sagged slightly, breathing in her presence like it was oxygen.

"When this mission's over," I said suddenly, "will you get to go back to Paris?"

"I hope so," she said. "All I know is that wherever you are is where I want to be."

Affection washed over me. I lifted her hand to kiss her knuckle, smiling into her skin. She tilted her head up to mine. Cupping my jaw with her other hand, she leaned in to brush her lips against my own. I responded in kind, kissing her harder. My hand found the nape of her neck as we folded into one another, caught up in the perfection of it all. When we finally broke apart, each new breath threatened to fail me. "Kind of wish we could do that all the time," I said.

Annabeth looked almost as overwhelmed as I felt. She grinned. "We'd never get anything done."

"Who cares?"

"I care," she replied, but her amused expression said otherwise. Unwilling to stop myself, I leaned down one more time to place another quick kiss on her lips. "Percy," she laughed, pushing me away.

"What? It's not like you mind," I said, smiling.

"That's not the problem." She rolled her eyes, pulling the blanket tighter around herself.

Realising I was cold too, I nodded to the door. "You wanna go in?"

"Definitely. I can't feel my toes."

We went inside, Annabeth quickly finishing her coffee. I closed the screen door with a _click,_ letting out a relieved sigh. Annabeth clasped her cold hands together, blowing on them. Carefully, I took hold of her hands and rubbed them quickly between my own to create warmth with the friction. The corner of Annabeth's mouth quirked as she watched me.

Satisfied, I let go. "Better?"

"Better," she murmured.

"Do you feel like watching something?" I asked, grabbing my laptop and sitting heavily down on my bed. "I don't think I'm tired enough to sleep yet."

"Yeah, sure." She sat next to me, curling into my side.

I opened Netflix. "What do you want to watch?"

She shrugged. "A movie? Something easy."

I put on _The Breakfast Club_ and settled down into Annabeth as 'Don't You (Forget About Me)' started playing. "Have you seen it before?" I asked, getting up to turn off the lights.

"A few times. I loved it when I was younger."

"Same," I said. "It was my mom's favourite."

Annabeth didn't reply, only pressed a kiss to my cheek as I sat back down before returning her eyes to the screen.

It went on for a while, and we both drifted asleep a couple of times before startling awake. It was late by the time the end credits finally rolled around. Annabeth started to get up, albeit reluctantly. I pulled her back down by her wrist, evoking a laugh from her. Her body was warm against my own, and my world became nothing but _Annabeth, Annabeth, Annabeth_ on a background of hazy radio interference. "I have to go," she said. "Have you seen what time it is?"

The clock on my bedside table read 01:57 in glowing blue digits. I pouted. "Stay? We're heading into Queens tomorrow morning together anyway."

She gave me a dry look. "Percy—"

"Come on." I tugged her down again.

She huffed, giving in. "Fine. But you better not hog the blanket." She nestled down beside me, blonde hair tickling my face.

I tucked it behind her ear and gave her a lingering kiss. "Love you."

"Shut up," she mumbled, but failed to hide her smile. Her fingertips were gentle on my cheek as I kissed her again.

* * *

 **I really can't believe we've hit the twentieth chapter! this was a short one, but get ready for lots of action ahead :) as always, I'm so grateful to everyone who's been reading, especially to reviewers! y'all are angels xx**


	21. A Dark Politician

**CHAPTER 21: A DARK POLITICIAN**

ANNABETH

I woke up, squinting through a rude draft of sunlight that'd fallen through Percy's blinds. He was still asleep, his arm loosely draped over my waist. With a yawn, I sat up. I'd slept so deeply that my skin was creased from being pressed against the rumpled sheets. Carefully, I shook Percy's shoulder with no degree of gentleness. "Hey, wake up."

He groaned into the mattress and sloppily pushed my arm away. "Go away. Lemme sleep."

I wrenched his pillow away from him and tossed it across the room, much to his obvious displeasure. Getting up, I said, "We've got shit to do, Jackson. You can catch your beauty sleep later."

Ten minutes later, we were in a car on our way to Astoria, Queens. Percy was sitting in the driver's seat, gloved hands drumming on the wheel. I turned over the radio's station, changing from a talk show to a soft-sounding track with a female singer on it. I'd never heard it before, but Percy apparently knew it as he started humming along to the song under his breath.

Outside, sheets of heavy rain began to batter the windows. Percy scowled at it as he turned on the windscreen wipers. "I hate New York weather."

I nodded in quiet assent, watching the rain's tiny droplets slide down the glass. "It's not like Paris was much better," I mused.

"Guess so."

Twenty minutes later, we'd made it into the heart of Queens and were driving down a side street. A tall, grey building loomed overhead. "There," I said. "That's it."

Percy raised a brow as he pulled up next to the curb. "Really? Doesn't look like much."

"That's the point."

As discreetly as possible, we climbed up into the old, dilapidated apartment block opposite it that had fallen into disuse. The top floor was covered in mould and was pretty much held together by scaffolding, but it was in direct sight of the hideout so that was where we sat down to begin our diligent reconnaissance.

Together, we watched the street outside. There wasn't much activity besides the occasional dog walker or slow-moving car, so it wasn't long before both of us were bored out of our mind. I'd been expecting this lead to yield answers pretty fast, but nothing was happening—that we could see, anyway. I knew it was likely that SPQR had forces within the hideout, but there was no chance that Percy or I would be able to get inside without being shot down on sight.

Percy seemed especially agitated. He kept alternating between bouncing his knee and biting his nails, both of which succeeded in irritating the hell out of me. "You're really not cut out for recon, are you?" I jabbed after he bit through his pinkie nail particularly loudly.

"Oh, shut up," he retorted. "Just 'cause you're practically a robot doesn't mean everyone else is."

I rolled my eyes, refusing to rise to the bait. "Maybe I should buy you a fidget spinner or something."

"Don't be mean," he chided.

I pouted, mocking him. "Aw. Hurt your feelings, did I?"

"Shut up."

I blanched. "Excuse me?"

Percy pointed out the window. "Shut up, and look! They're here."

I followed his gaze. True to his word, a sleek, black BMW had pulled up outside the hideout and several people had gotten out. The first was a tall woman with cascading red hair, and she was followed by four men dressed in suits. I thought I might've seen the flash of a silver holster at one of their waists, but I couldn't be sure. "Her bodyguards?" I wondered.

Percy nodded. "Probably." We watched in anticipation as the woman headed for the building, flanked by her guards. I expected them to go through the doors at the front, but instead they disappeared through an alleyway around the side.

"Crap," I mumbled. "It's not like we can go in after them."

"Just wait," Percy said. "We'll follow them when they come out."

We sat there by the window, watching intently. Neither the woman nor her bodyguards showed their faces for a while and I started to wonder if they were ever going to come back out. However, just before I could voice that thought to Percy I noticed movement down in the alleyway next to the building: a flash of red hair. The woman and her bodyguards emerged only a few seconds later. "There," I said to Percy. "She's back."

Percy's green eyes remained fixed on the woman as she opened the car door. "What's that in her hand?" he asked.

From here, it was hard to tell. "Looks like some sort of envelope. What do you think's in it?"

"No idea." Percy stood up. "Come on, let's tail her. If she's SPQR then I'm willing to bet we can find out something about Gabe's speakeasy tomorrow night."

We were out of the apartment block and back into our car in a minute flat, and thankfully we could still see the woman's car as she turned a corner. Percy eased down on the accelerator as he cleanly shifted into third gear. We followed the woman at a distance, ensuring that she would have a hard time spotting us. I leaned out the window and tilted the side mirror so I could check to see if anyone was onto us, but the road looked to be clear of any tails. Maybe that was a bad sign, but time would tell.

For the next fifteen minutes, we followed the red-haired woman through the city. Percy was a good driver; he knew when to slow down or speed up in order to avoid being noticed. I tried to work out where she could be going, but we were relatively far from any other SPQR bases that we knew about and we were heading into a wealthy area of Queens which was reportedly held in an iron fist by the police.

At last, the woman's car came to a stop. She got out, leaving her bodyguards in the car. We were on a main street, and there were several bridal and tailor shops on the road. We parked at a good distance so we could observe as Percy shut off the engine. "What the hell is she doing?" I muttered.

The woman adjusted the handbag on her shoulder and ran a manicured hand through her red hair. She disappeared into a shop and I leaned forward to read the sign. " _Tatiana's Tailors..._ What, is she getting a fucking dress fitted or something?"

Percy's fingers tapped on the steering wheel. Brow furrowed, he shook his head. "We need to go in after her."

Incredulous, I turned to him. "Are you insane? We can't let her see us!"

"You need to do it. Pretend to browse or something."

"What? Why me?"

He gave me a look. "Come on. There's a bunch of dresses in the window. What would I want with a dress?"

I raised a brow. "Guys can wear dresses, you know. It's not the fourteenth century."

Percy flushed. "You know what I mean!"

I glared at him, but after a moment I gave in. With a groan, I kicked open the car door. "Oh my God, fine. I'll be out in a minute." I headed into the store, trying to fabricate a lie in my head. _I'm looking for a prom dress, maybe?_ I glanced around, trying to catch sight of the red-haired woman, but the store was huge and there were so many racks of beautiful, shimmering dresses that I felt a tad overwhelmed.

"You lost, darling?"

Shocked, I spun around to find an old woman standing behind me. Her name-badge had _Tatiana_ written on it in neat, cursive letters. "Uh, no. I'm fine," I stuttered. "I was just, erm, looking for a dress. For my aunt's wedding."

Tatiana beamed. "Oh, I can help with that! What are the colours?"

"Sorry?"

"Your aunt's wedding colours, dearie."

I scrambled to think of a reply. I'd never been to a wedding, and immediately wished I'd chosen a different lie to run with. "Uh, red and grey." I winced. "She's going for a more modern look."

She nodded, smiling. I'd lied a lot of times in my life, but for some reason lying to this sweet old lady was making me feel like a dickhead. "Lovely choice. And you're a lucky thing—red's your colour. And grey would match your eyes. Would you like to browse, or shall I bring you some dresses that might suit you?"

There was still no sign of the red-haired woman so I figured it couldn't hurt to look in the fitting rooms. I gave Tatiana my most genuine smile. "Can you find me some then, if that's alright?"

"It's more than alright, love. Follow me." Beckoning for me to come with her, she led me through a door and into a large boutique. The walls were lined with gorgeous, ornate mirrors and there was a haberdashery in the corner which presumably held supplies for making adjustments. Rather than fitting rooms, there were several floral folding screens. Everything was so intricately beautiful that I felt jarringly out of place. "You can sit down, if you want," Tatiana told me. "I won't be a minute."

I did as she'd suggested, sitting carefully on a leather sofa by the wall. As Tatiana left, I realised that there was someone changing behind the wall. Their fur coat was draped over one of the folding screens, and I could see a moving shadow cast from the other side which most likely belonged to the red-haired woman.

My suspicions were confirmed when she stepped out from behind the folding screen, swathed in a gaudy indigo dress which hugged her torso and hips before flowing like water to her feet. What shocked me, however, was the black mask concealing the upper half of her face. It slid over her features like a second skin, a mould of liquid shadow. I had to admire Tatiana's craftsmanship.

She didn't notice me at first, only inspected herself in the mirror. I couldn't read her opinion of the ensemble from her masked expression, but she seemed to me like an aloof, detached kind of person anyway.

When her eyes caught mine in the mirror, I squashed the instinct to look away and resolutely held her gaze. "Hello," she said. To my surprise, her accent definitely wasn't American. Russian, maybe? Or Polish. I nodded—polite, but without continuing the conversation. Still, she pressed on. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Annabeth," I replied with a smile, then realised too late that I probably should've given a false name. "You?"

"Milena," she said airily, turning her eyes back to her own reflection. _Definitely a Polish name,_ I thought to myself. She smoothed the dress' fabric where it was a little rumpled over her abdomen and didn't bother to look at me when she addressed me again. "How do you feel about the dress?" she asked.

I felt myself slipping into the role of someone else, realising that this was the perfect time to try and wring some information out of Milena. "It suits you," I said, standing up. "Contrasts well with your hair."

"It does, doesn't it?" Milena said absently. "And the mask? You like it?"

I nodded. "What's it for? A party?"

Milena gave me a slick smile over her shoulder. "Of sorts," she said. "Normally, I'd never go to such a cheap boutique, but the event's tomorrow and my usual place never makes dresses with only a few days' warning."

"Don't worry, the dress looks far from cheap," I reassured her. The event she was talking about was undoubtedly Ugliano's speakeasy, which meant Milena was probably someone of high standing amongst New York's criminal underground. "So the event's a masquerade?" I asked. "Sounds interesting."

"I'm sure it will be," Milena said. "Hold on one second." Obediently, I waited while she went behind the folding screen, then returned with two other pairs of black high heels. She held them up for me to look at them. One pair were platforms and the others were stilettos. "Which ones?"

I gestured to the stilettos. "The platforms' material is too matte. The shine on these ones will complement the sheen of your dress' material."

Milena hummed in consideration, then nodded. "You're right."

As Milena slipped on the stilettos, Tatiana returned with my dresses. There were two of them—one red, one grey. I already knew I couldn't buy any, but it wasn't as though I could just walk out of here now. Tatiana handed me the red dress first and placed the grey one on the sofa behind me. "Here you are, love. Give me a shout if you'd like to try any others."

"Thanks," I said, taking the dress. I could feel Milena's eyes on me as I disappeared behind one of the folding screens. As I undressed, I realised Percy had texted me. _Everything okay?_

 _All good. I'm trying to get some info out of the woman. Her name's Milena._

His reply was short and immediate. _Be quick._

I slipped into the dress, melting into the cool, expensive feel of the silk fabric. To my surprise, the dress fitted me perfectly; Tatiana had excellent judgement.

I tried to reach around to do up the dress, but the zip was just out of my reach. "Milena?" I called, peeking around the side of my screen. "Could you do up this dress for me?"

Milena had just finished strapping up the platforms to try them on, but she nodded and strode over to help. "Of course." I held my hair out of the way as Milena carefully zipped up my dress. She cooed in admiration as I turned around. "Oh, my. It's gorgeous. What's it for?"

"My aunt's wedding," I replied, padding barefoot over to a mirror. The dress really was beautiful. It was all ruched around my hips, placing emphasis on the curve of my body, and the neckline was a delicate lace. I found myself caught up in the moment—I'd never been to any proms or formals and getting to try on boutique dresses was a rarity anyway. "Wow," I managed.

Milena stood behind me, smiling. "Lovely." She walked back behind her folding screen, saying, "Try not to outshine the bride."

I laughed. I looked at the dress for another moment, then turned away from the mirror. It was time to leave—Percy and I had a mission to plan. But as I did so, my gaze snagged on something by Milena's screen: her handbag. I froze, thoughts whirling. Would the envelope she'd walked out of the hideout with be in there? Before I could second-guess myself, I quickly rummaged through her handbag. My fingers closed around what felt like paper. I pulled it out, and there it was—an envelope. Holding it to my chest, I walked back behind my folding screen and changed back into my clothes as fast as I could. I wanted to get out before Milena emerged.

I left the store in a hurry, eager to get back to the car. When I slid inside, Percy said, "Thank God, I was getting worried. You were taking forever—"

"Drive," I demanded, already pulling my seatbelt over my body and clicking it into place.

Percy raised his hands in surrender as he started the engine. "Okay, okay!" It was only once we'd disappeared into the traffic that my heart rate started to slow down. I leaned back in my seat, exhaling slowly. _Wow, I could never be a shoplifter._

"So, what happened?" Percy asked. "What did you find out?"

"Not much," I said. "Only that Milena plans to attend the speakeasy tomorrow, so she must be either part of SPQR or one of the gangs that Gabe plans to ally with. And that the event is going to be a masquerade," I added. "Which makes sense, as the gang leaders will feel much more at ease if their identity isn't immediately obvious."

Percy nodded slowly. "Okay, that's helpful to know. Anything else?"

I rummaged in my pocket for the envelope and took it out. "I also stole this from Milena."

"What does it say?"

Careful not to tear it, I slid my nail under the paper and eased the envelope open. Inside was a crisp, white piece of paper. It looked like a basic letter of correspondence—it'd been printed in simple, blocky sans serif font. I skimmed it. It was addressed to _M. Biela_ , who I assumed was Milena. Percy leaned over my shoulder to look. "Her surname's Biela?" he mused. "The Biela family has some pretty bitter animosity towards SPQR, at least from what I remember. If even the Bielas are considering joining up with Gabe then we're fucked."

"Seems like an invite of sorts," I murmured. "Look, it mentions tomorrow's date right here. Then there's a comprehensive list of names; I guess that's everyone who's been invited. Again, that'll keep the gangs happy—they don't want anyone to attend who'll put them at risk." I recognised a few of the names, but not many.

"That'll make crashing the event far easier, then," Percy said. He sped forward, cutting a red light. "We should be able to buy off several of the invitees in order to get some of our own officers in."

"Still, there's just too many variables unaccounted for," I pointed out. "We know next to nothing about Gabe's security. Hell, this could be one massive, elaborate trap."

"I know. But if we let this slide, Gabe could manage to unite the city's gangs against us. You and I both know that this is our best chance."

Letting out a sigh, I leaned my head against the condensation-cold passenger's window. He was right. This mission, if executed perfectly, could be the first stepping stone towards taking down SPQR. "Then we've got a lot of work to do."

* * *

PERCY

Due to the fact that we had so little time to plan the operation, Annabeth and I spent almost every waking minute laying out preparations, organising our squads and working out how we were going to surveil the mission when the hideout was completely under SPQR's control. Will and Nico would be going undercover into the speakeasy as well as me and Annabeth—we'd used Milena's invitation that Annabeth had stolen to pay off several of the names on the list so we could take their places.

Thalia's job would be organising our squads on the outside and keeping track of everything going on. Her chemo had been making her a little unsteady on her feet, so it was better that she stayed on the sidelines. She'd also worked out several getaway plans in case things went south—which I was betting on.

The entire operation was going to be unpredictable, but the hope was that Annabeth, Will, Nico and I would be able to create some kind of diversion which would allow our squads to flood the building and commandeer it. I had no idea if Gabe would actually show his face, but if he did I would take every opportunity I could get to assassinate him.

Part of the whole planning process was finding outfits for those of us going undercover. The event was a masquerade, which was something of a blessing as we didn't have to worry about being recognised, but it meant that we also had to find some expensive masks that'd do a suitable job of hiding our faces. It would probably be fine for the others as SPQR hadn't come across them many times before, but if anyone in that building recognised me as Gabe Ugliano's stepson then we were all screwed. I really, really hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Soon enough, the evening of the mission rolled around. I stood in my dorm, frowning into the bathroom mirror at the tie slung around my neck that I was attempting to wrangle into submission. I'd never had much cause to wear one before, but this time it was part of the whole ensemble. It was made of a deep, shimmering green satin, contrasting with the black of my suit. I scowled—the tie was getting all twisted and my efforts were only making it worse. "God," I muttered, burying my face in my hands. The anxiety surrounding this whole operation was beginning to catch up to me. What if one of us was captured? What if my stepdad recognised me and killed me on sight? There were a million and one things that could go wrong with the operation, and in less than an hour we'd have to be walking into that speakeasy.

"You okay?" a familiar voice said from behind me.

I spun around, hands finding the edge of the sink behind me. Standing in front of me was Annabeth, looking beautiful as anything. She was wearing a fitted, silky grey dress that contoured her body so well that my mouth instantly went dry. Hanging around her neck was a sleek, feathered mask that looked like the face of a bird. I already knew it'd look lovely on her. "Yeah, sorry," I said. "Just freaking out a bit."

Annabeth nodded. "I know. But we're gonna be fine, alright?" She reached up to detangle the mess of my tie and began to knot it correctly with deft, careful fingers. "Everything's in position."

I smiled. "Thanks. I know it'll be fine, I'm just...being stupid."

"Yes, you are." She pressed a kiss to my cheek and picked up the green, shiny mask I'd left by the sink and handed it to me. "If you're ready, let's get downstairs. We're needed."

It was late evening outside and the sun had almost completely disappeared behind New York's towering skyline. Though it was cold, it thankfully wasn't raining so it was easy enough to get all our equipment loaded up into our vans. Percy and I convened with Nico and Will before we left, the first of which was wearing a deep blue suit with a black mask and the second of which was wearing a black suit with a gold tie and matching mask. Though the masks weren't perfect disguises, none of us were instantly recognisable which was mostly all that mattered.

"Is everyone ready?" Will asked, clipping a pistol onto his belt beneath his suit jacket. Our squads nodded, as determined as I'd ever seen them. "Then get into the vans. You'll remain hidden until Thalia gives you a signal." She was already in position outside the building with her squad, and had been reporting to the rest of us all afternoon.

Nico and Will left for their van while Annabeth and I walked over to ours. I climbed into the driver's seat and reached over to adjust my side mirror. Annabeth quickly finished strapping a sheath to her upper thigh as I revved the engine. "Good to go?" I asked.

She nodded. "I am," she said. "This is going to work, you know. This is the first step in bringing down Ugliano." Behind her mask, she looked inexplicably, strangely beautiful. Not for the first time, I wondered how someone like her had ever fallen in love with someone like me.

I grinned. "Kiss for luck?"

She shot me a scorching look, but there was affection behind it. "We're on the job," she berated me. After a moment, though, she broke. The kiss she gave me was short and sweet: a promise. Returning her eyes to the road, she clipped on her seat-belt. "Now drive, Jackson."

I drove.

* * *

It only took us twenty minutes to reach the hideout. From the outside, it didn't look like there was an underground event going on. Still, I supposed that was the point.

Annabeth and I got out, but our squad stayed in the back of the van. We'd need them later, after the diversion. I checked that my gun and spare ammo was securely tucked to my belt, then surveyed the street. Several masked individuals kept walking around the side of the building at intervals, which was where Milena had entered the other day. "Guess we go in that way," I mused.

Annabeth nodded in agreement. "You remember your alias?"

"Yeah. Cassian Hope."

"Okay, good."

Annabeth and I's aliases were actually the partnered-up leaders of two gangs in Brooklyn, which was useful because it made sense that we would go in together. It had been expensive to pay them off but hopefully this mission would be worth the money. Will and Nico were going in ten minutes after us two in order to avoid suspicion.

The alleyway beside the building was dark and moss-covered, derelict in its entirety. We came to a set of stone steps, at the bottom of which there was a heavy door. Annabeth approached first. I followed her, heart beating in my mouth. She tucked a flyaway strand of blonde hair behind her ear before knocking once, twice.

A gruff voice echoed from behind the door. "State your name and the password."

Annabeth cleared her throat. In the silence before she spoke, I had time to panic about whether she would correctly remember the password from Milena's letter. "This is Yasmin Creeve and Cassian Hope. _The weight of a dead dog is used again and again_."

Without a reply, the door swung open. A security guard stood behind it, a slick silver gun in his left hand. He gestured for us to enter. Annabeth inclined her head politely in his direction as we walked in. From here, I could hear the hubbub of voices and classical music playing. We followed the sounds, steeling ourselves. Annabeth's pinkie finger brushed against mine, the only comfort she could offer.

We descended a few flights of stairs, and it slowly became apparent to me that this whole space had been dug out a while ago. The walls were crumbling stone, supported by wood pillars. No wonder this hideout had never been exposed by the police—there weren't even any official records that it _existed._

As we reached the bottom of the stairs, the sounds of the event got even louder. A pair of double doors loomed before us. I pushed them open, exhaling a quick breath as I slipped the veneer of Cassian Hope over my face. I couldn't be recognised. Not now.

I had to hand it to my stepdad; his speakeasy was beautifully furnished. Tiles of carved mahogany lined the ceiling and luscious red velvet curtains cascaded from the walls. A bar surface stretched from one side of the room to the other, attended by several finely-dressed bartenders. The entire room was lit up by red lamps, casting everyone's masked faces in dim light. It worked in our favour that the room was dimly lit—the chances were therefore even lower that anyone would be able to fully discern our faces.

Every party-goer was masked. Some wore simple masks while some were elaborately embellished. Most had a drink in their hand, but I didn't think anyone was likely to let themselves get really drunk. The mood was incredibly tense as it was—everyone here was from the city's criminal underground. Many were rivals, even enemies. The only thing currently holding them together were Gabe's promises of power and wealth if they helped him take down SPQR.

At the front of the speakeasy was a low, wooden stage. A grand piano had been set up in the centre, and there was a woman sitting at it. She coaxed a beautiful melody out of the instrument, hands sure and certain on the keys.

Most interesting of all, though, was the long table in the centre of the room. There were enough chairs around it to hold all the invitees, but no one was sitting at it yet. I wasn't sure what we were waiting for, but I figured the reason would make itself clear before long.

For about half an hour, Annabeth and I mingled with the small crowd. When we were speaking to each gang leader, Annabeth became a different person entirely. She became a silver-fingered flirt, an intimidating strategist, moulding herself around the personalities of everyone we spoke to. I had no idea who she'd become but I was thankful for it; without her, I would've been lost.

The latest person we'd found ourselves in a conversation with was one Valerie Evans. She was a tall, slim woman with dark hair and a rasping voice. A purple mask adorned with rhinestones concealed her features. "How are you enjoying the wine?" she asked me, gesturing to the glass in my hand.

"It's passable," I replied. "I think Mr Ugliano could've picked something a little more refined."

Valerie laughed. "Oh, do we have ourselves a wine connoisseur?"

I shrugged. "Not in the least. I prefer whiskey, to be completely honest."

"And what about you, Yasmin?" she asked, turning to Annabeth.

Annabeth smiled. "Oh, I'm not much of a drinker." She looped her arm through mine. As she leaned against me, I fought off a blush. Valerie blanched, though tried her best to hide it. Annabeth continued. "So, what brings you here today?"

"Same as you, I suppose. The idea of a united front against the Organisation appeals to me," Valerie said. Over the course of this evening, I'd quickly learned that to outsiders, the New York branch was referred to as the Organisation. It seemed that hatred for us had been stewing for a long time. I wouldn't admit it, but it was smart of my stepfather to choose now as his time to strike.

"I'm willing to negotiate," Annabeth said, running a hand through her styled blonde hair. "I've never liked SPQR, but I'd like to hear what Ugliano has to offer."

Valerie nodded to us both. "Well, I look forward to working with you both. Enjoy your evening."

"You too," I replied.

Once she'd left, Annabeth cast me a look. "This is worrying me," she murmured under her breath. "There's so much unrest. It seems like everyone has a vendetta against us."

I nodded. "It's made me more certain than ever about taking down SPQR. It's the only thing keeping the relationship between all these gangs intact. Without it, they'll scatter."

"I know," Annabeth said. "But that's easier said than done."

Suddenly, the music ground to a stop. The pianist left the stage and disappeared behind the drapes. Everyone fell silent, the tension in the air so thick it was almost tangible. Someone walked onto the stage, barely a shadow in the dim light. They tapped the microphone, causing a resounding pulse to echo through the speakeasy. Removing the microphone from its stand, they stepped into the limelight.

I stopped breathing. Though he was wearing a mask, I'd have recognised him anywhere. Unable to stop myself, I grabbed Annabeth's hand.

My stepfather smiled. "Good evening, everyone. We have much to discuss tonight."

* * *

 **thanks for reading, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the reviews! so sorry about the lack of an update last sunday—I didn't have much time to write, but hopefully you enjoyed this chapter. we're on the home stretch as there's only a few chapters left to go and I'm super excited about next week's update!**

 **as always, you can find this fic's aesthetic board on pinterest at my account** _ **suicidal_stolen_art**_ **:)**


	22. Rain & Ruination

**CHAPTER 22: RAIN & RUINATION**

PERCY

I couldn't drag my eyes away from where Gabe was standing. A thousand memories from my childhood were coming roaring back like a flood, and I couldn't shut them off. Beside me, Annabeth stood still except for a flick of her gaze to mine. _You okay?_ she asked silently.

I swallowed, forcing myself to let go of Annabeth's hand—I'd been holding it so tightly that my hand had gone white-knuckled. Feeling helpless, I steadied myself and tried to clear my mind. I was undercover and I really, really couldn't afford to lose my composure. I was certain that if Gabe looked at me too long, he'd recognise me as his estranged stepson, so I forced myself to remain one with the crowd.

"Thank you all for coming here tonight," Gabe was saying. His face was half-cast in shadow by the limelight, making his brown, beady eyes look dark. A predator, through and through. "I know bringing so many of you into one place may have caused some unresolved tensions to rise, but I'm grateful for your collective restraint in keeping your hackles low. As we know, there is a common enemy here."

A few people in the crowd whooped and applauded—mostly those on the wrong side of sober. In the comm set at my ear, I heard Will's voice crackle into existence. " _Nico and I are at the back entrance. We've managed to take out the guards, but we'll need a distraction to allow the rest of our forces to flood in. And quickly, before they send another rotation of guards._ "

I shared a trepid glance with Annabeth. We couldn't try and pull anything, not while Gabe was addressing the gangs. "I hope this event will be the first stepping stone in an unrivalled alliance against the Organisation. It's time to take this city back, restore it to our control. We will absolve this city's power imbalance and make it our own." As my stepfather's voice echoed through the crimson-lit room, I felt the gang leaders warming up to his ideology and swaying to his cause. Gabe was a skilled public speaker; he was undeniably calculating and manipulative by nature.

Suddenly, a feeling of unease washed over me. On instinct, I let my knuckles brush over the holster of my gun so I could draw at a moment's notice. I tore my eyes away from Gabe, squinting into the crowd for whatever was causing my dread.

Behind me, a familiar voice whispered into my ear. "Did you think I wouldn't recognise you, Jackson?" _Juno._

I whirled around, gun already in hand. I lashed out at her where she was stood behind me, holding a knife to my neck. Faster than anything, I ducked under her arm and kicked her in the leg. To my eternal satisfaction, I realised both her legs were supported by braces—injuries she'd sustained when I'd put bullets in both her kneecaps. She'd healed quicker than I'd expected, but then again I supposed my stepfather had probably made sure she'd been given the best possible care.

Juno grunted, but didn't go down. She sliced at me with her blade, cruel grin splitting her face. "I should've known you'd show your face here."

I fired a shot at her abdomen, but she'd whirled away before the bullet even left my gun. "How're the legs?" I jabbed.

Annabeth joined the fight, drawing two knives from her sleeves. But the whole crowd was aware of our presence now. I felt someone grab my arm, wrestling it behind me. Their hand closed around my neck, digging into my windpipe. "Don't resist," he spat into my ear, but it was easy enough to angle the muzzle of my gun down and press it against the flesh of my assailant's leg.

"Think you'd survive a gunshot wound at this range?" I hissed into his ear. He stumbled back, giving me the leeway to spin around and plant a bullet between his masked eyes.

Annabeth was locked in combat with Juno, but several gang leaders behind her had decided to join the fight. I watched as they wrenched her arms behind her back, prising her knife from her grip. Juno laughed in Annabeth's face at her helplessness.

I fired a round of bullets around me by way of warning as the crowd tried to surge forward, charging towards Annabeth. "Get the fuck off her," I snarled, already raising my gun in Juno's direction. But before I could pull the trigger, I felt the sudden, fiery pain of a gunshot find the flesh of my right arm: my shooting arm. I cried out but managed to remain upright—the adrenaline in my body numbed the pain before it could cripple me. I switched my gun to my left hand, hoping at least to get one shot out.

I was knocked off balance by a harsh, debilitating blow to the back of my head, and then I was being restrained. Where _were_ Will and Nico with our reinforcements? They should've been here by now. If this wasn't enough of a fucking diversion, I didn't know what was. I felt the cold, cruel pressure of a muzzle being pressed against my temple and squeezed my eyes shut. _No. Not now._

"Wait. Don't kill him," Juno said. Around me, the crowd was murmuring. Speculating. I knew only Juno had recognised me, but that wasn't going to last. "Take off his mask," she ordered. "And the girl's," she added, an afterthought.

I braced myself as someone unlaced my mask and prised it off, letting a wash of cool air settle over my face. I poured as much malice into my expression as I could. If they were going to recognise me as the Butcher's son, I wanted them to be scared about it.

A wave of unrest rippled through the crowd as their appraisal locked on my face. Their expressions betrayed confusion and sickly unease. I glared at Juno, at her smug smile. "What, little rabbit?" she murmured. She grabbed my jaw, moving it to the side in the way a mother might assess her son for injuries. "Can't find a way to escape now?"

Disgust reared in me at the ugly sensation of her fingertips on my skin. I jolted away from the touch. "You've recovered nicely," I sneered. "How long did it take, after I shot you in both legs?"

Without warning, Juno slapped me: a sick echo of when I was younger, having missed the target yet again at the knife-throwing range under her supervision.

Annabeth made a noise of horror. She had blood on her face, dripping down from what looked like a broken nose. "Percy, don't."

Juno smiled in Annabeth's direction. "Who's this, then? Your accomplice? Your partner?" When she looked back at me, her face was twisted with gleeful malice. "Your _girlfriend?_ "

I spat at Juno's feet, not even bothering to reply.

Up on the stage, my stepfather's gaze was burning holes through me. I watched as he gestured sharply to his men, then stepped down off the stage. Even at the same level as everyone else, he seemed to loom larger than life. The crowd parted as he walked through, the anticipation in the air so tangible it could've been cut with a knife. My eyes met Annabeth's for a moment—her face was hardened steel. _Be strong. Don't let him win._

As Gabe approached, I swallowed the lump in my throat. I couldn't squash the irrational instincts ingrained in me since childhood to _stay still, stay quiet, fade into the background_ whenever I was in his presence. Still, I grunted and struggled to wrench my wrists out of the ironclad grip they were being held in behind my back.

Gabe's expression didn't change as he stopped a metre in front of me; he remained discerning, calculating. For an uneasy few seconds, he didn't speak. I wondered what he thought of who I'd become. It'd been years since I'd ran away, and I'd undoubtedly changed since then. "Well," he said, voice dripping with no small amount of satisfaction. "After all this time, I didn't expect you to wander right into my clutches, yet...here you are."

I clenched my jaw. Hopefully the assault squads would break in soon, but until then there was nothing stopping Gabe from putting a bullet in my head. "Here I am," I agreed, refusing to let my voice tremor.

"So, what brings you here, then? Is this your feeble attempt to take me down?" I said nothing, refusing to lower my stare. "Perhaps you've finally realised how weak you are without SPQR. Without me." He laughed: a hollow, flat sound. A few seconds passed before he spoke, as though he was considering the strange fallacy of my existence before him. His tone fell low, no longer putting on a show for the audience. "I remember when you were four, when I took you to a shooting range for the first time. You doted on my words, clung to my guidance like a lifeline. You believed all the beautiful lies I told you. I could've set the world on fire and called it rain."

A wave of crawling revulsion crashed over me. "That was a long time ago," I gritted out. "You showed your true colours soon enough as a disgusting, manipulative prick. My mom should've killed you in your sleep as soon as you laid a goddamn finger on her."

That seemed to give Gabe something to consider. "I haven't thought about Sally in a while," he mused. "It's probably for the best that my men found her in the end. She only made you weak, and that's the one thing my son should never be."

"Your son?" I said, incredulous. But then something occurred to me. "Wait...your men? What do you mean? She killed herself."

Gabe smiled, slow and serpentine. "You still haven't worked it out? I'm surprised. I thought I raised you smarter than that. Percy, you and your mother's escape was the single greatest insult I've ever suffered. I never could've let her live."

I stuttered. "You..."

Gabe continued, "She hid you well, certainly, but never was quite so careful about herself. My men eventually tracked her down and caught her off guard." He shrugged. "In retrospect, maybe stringing her from the ceiling was needlessly brutal. Still, it was her fault for thinking she could betray me like that and then walk free."

Anger wrenched through me, a hurricane. " _You_ murdered her? All this time, I thought she did it herself. God, I'll kill you. I'll kill you!" I struggled as hard as I could, wishing with everything I had that my hands were free so I could wrap them around my stepfather's neck. "Fucking asshole!" I shouted, voice hoarse.

A metre away, Annabeth shook her head desperately. "Percy, stay calm." Her words were a faraway whisper of rationality.

Suddenly, a jarring round of gunshots reverberated through the speakeasy. It came from the floor above us. _The others have finally got in._

I watched as an array of shock, then confusion, then malice flickered across Gabe's face faster than I could comprehend it. He clenched his fist, glancing wildly around him for more intruders. "It's the Organisation," he spat, then signalled to Juno. She was already clipping a fresh round of ammo onto her gun. "Let our reinforcements know they're needed. Find out how the hell they got in, and," he jabbed a thumb at me and Annabeth, "get these two in restraints."

Juno nodded, then began barking orders at her guards. The cold, heavy weight of handcuffs were snapped around my wrists, and I cried out as my wounded shoulder was wrenched back. A pit formed in my stomach. With my hands bound, how was I going to fight?

Gabe spent a moment fixing his cufflinks. I wasn't sure why he thought his appearance mattered when his hideout was being stormed. "Listen up," he called, projecting his authoritative voice into the crowd that was rapidly growing more and more haywire. Somehow, even in the chaos, he managed to gather attention to him. "We are currently under attack by the Organisation. This is no longer a matter of _everyone_ versus _everyone;_ it is now _us_ versus _them_. Raise your guns and stand your ground!"

I swore under my breath that, against all odds, the gang leaders were _listening_ to him. This wasn't going the way we'd hoped. Our attack was supposed to be shattering the gangs' faith in SPQR, not reinforcing it. Annabeth seemed to have realised the same thing. When I met her eyes, there was a look of sheer desperation in them.

The doors to the speakeasy burst open, letting loose a cover fire of steel bullets. Cries of pain and anger alike emanated from the crowd as they drew their weapons, ready to turn on their attackers. Nico and Will were leading the assault, both of them grim-faced and commanding as they directed their squads to take control of the hideout. "Over here!" I screamed.

Nico noticed us first, his onyx eyes jolting as he registered that we'd been captured and restrained. He said something to Will, who nodded and issued more spitfire orders to the recruits around him.

In seconds, the speakeasy devolved into chaos. I lost sight of Annabeth. Panic rose in me at the thought that she might've gone down. The guards who were holding me in place shoved me to the floor with a brutal hit to the backs of my knees. I collapsed, landing on my bad shoulder; my hands were cuffed behind me and therefore unable to break my fall. "Don't fucking get up," one of the guards hissed at me. They both disappeared into the frenzy, presumably to help keep the hideout under SPQR's control.

I tried to struggle to my feet, but the gunshot wound in my shoulder ached and was still weeping blood. I fought off the haziness that threatened to engulf my vision as a result of the blood loss. _Don't pass out yet,_ I told myself deliriously. I could still fight, I just needed someone to break the chain of these goddamn cuffs.

As if my prayers had been answered, I felt hands slip under my arms and haul me, agonisingly, to my feet. "Are you okay?" they asked, accent careful and British. I turned to see that it was Will standing behind me, gun in hand. Dark blood splattered his clothing, but none of it seemed to be his own.

Shakily trying to find my balance, I nodded, gratefully leaning on him while the world stopped spinning. "Took a bullet to the shoulder, but I can still fight. For now, anyway. Can you break my cuffs?" I held them out behind me, wrists apart. Will bashed the chain once, twice, three times with the muzzle of his gun before it finally shattered. Relieved, I let out a sharp sigh. "Thank God." I pulled two knives out of my suit jacket; I definitely couldn't reliably fire a gun with an injured shoulder due to the kickback, but I could handle knives just fine.

"Ready?" Will asked, already flicking the safety off his gun. He grinned at me fiercely, teeth pale white in the contrasting darkness.

"Of course," I replied, raising my knives. Already, I could feel the adrenaline rushing back into my bloodstream. _I have to find Annabeth._ Together, we plunged into the fray.

For the next twenty minutes, my world was a haze of ruination and the flashing silver of my knives. I took another bullet to the leg, but it hardly mattered as the wound was so superficial. I didn't even notice the pain of my shoulder, only the sensation of the knife handles in each of my palms. Combat manoeuvres that I'd learnt in my youth poured from my fingertips with the ease of muscle memory. I registered nothing but the faces and pained shouts of each gang leader I took down.

It went on forever. Both sides were so evenly matched that it didn't take long for me to realise that unless we got out of here soon with our hostages, we'd be overrun when Gabe's reinforcements arrived. My stepfather himself was long gone, which infuriated me. I wanted him to face me, so I could get my revenge for him ever making me think my mom's death was a suicide.

I pulled my blade out of a guard's leg, evoking a rough cry of pain from him as he collapsed. Scanning the scene around me, my eyes quickly locked on Nico. As I called his name, he spun around to face me. "When are we getting out of here?' I yelled.

"Thalia's sending in the getaway drivers right now," he answered, then was briefly interrupted by needing to crouch to avoid a hail of bullets that sailed right over his head. "Will's already gotten outside and secured the hostages in the vans."

"Shit," I muttered. "Have you seen Chase? Last I saw, she was still in handcuffs."

Nico shook his head, releasing the spent clip of his gun and ramming in a fresh one. "She's probably with Will. Get yourself out, okay? Your shoulder looks fucking awful." With that, he turned back to the fight.

Nico was right. The adrenaline in my system was beginning to lose its effectiveness and I could already feel my strength dissolving. I needed urgent medical attention, but that didn't mean I had to like it. I cursed, sheathing my knives as I sprinted for the back exit.

I emerged into the street outside, the cold night air enveloping me like a sigh. It was raining hard; sheets of water lashed the pavement with the impetus of a storm. There was fighting going on out here, too. Several of our vans had pulled up and recruits were piling into them, restraining hostages and defending the vans from Gabe's reinforcements that were starting to arrive.

My gaze found Thalia, who was talking animatedly to Will. I made for them, wincing as my calf throbbed with every step. Both my leg and my shoulder were soaked crimson.

Thalia gasped when she saw me. "Christ, how are you still standing? Get in a med-van, now."

I shook my head limply. "Is Annabeth with you?"

"Chase?" Thalia turned to glance around the street. "Haven't seen her. She's probably inside with Nico, holding them off."

I let out a groan of frustration. The deliria from my wounds was fogging my brain, making it hard to think straight. "She's not. I think Gabe got her, Thalia. I think—"

" _What?_ " Thalia snatched Will's gun off him. "Right, I'm going in after her."

Will let out a noise of protest. "Wait, Thalia—"

She fixed him with a venomous glare. "What, Solace? Just 'cause my fucking hair is falling out doesn't mean I can't stand on my own two feet." Flipping the safety off her gun, she called over her shoulder, "And get Jackson some goddamn medical attention!"

Will sighed, relenting. "Alright, then. C'mon." He slipped an arm under my shoulder. Gratefully, I leaned on him with a wince.

We ducked into a side-street where the med-van was parked. In the distance, I could hear blaring sirens getting closer and closer. Will sat me down on the side of a raised stretcher, eyeing my blood-soaked clothes. "Shirt off," he demanded, pulling supplies haphazardly out of boxes. I did as he asked and unbuttoned my shirt, pushing the sleeve down to reveal the ragged wound in my shoulder.

Will turned around with a syringe in-hand, flicking it with a nail. "Wrist up, please." He pressed the needle into the vein at the inside of my elbow, drawing a huff of pain out of me. My stomach heaved at the crawling sensation of the liquid entering my bloodstream.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Morphine." He studied my shoulder for a second, then groaned. "Crap. No exit wound. And you're still bleeding."

I could feel the painkiller kicking in, making my jaw heavy and my body light. I was vaguely aware of Will guiding me down into a lying position, then of a pair of tweezers pressing into the raw, bloody flesh of my shoulder.

The last thought that crossed my detached mind was of Annabeth. After that, everything faded away.

* * *

 **thanks for reading, especially to my reviewers! I love y'all so much :') shit is beginning to hit the fan and I'm sorry lmao.**

 **reminder that you can find the aesthetic board at my pinterest,** _ **suicidal_stolen_art.**_


	23. Shadows On The Way

**CHAPTER 23: SHADOWS ON THE WAY**

PERCY

When I came to, it took me a moment to remember everything that had happened. All that was on my mind was the half-fuzzy pain of my injuries, blotted out by painkillers. Still, it only took a moment for everything to come crashing back. I sat up sharply in my infirmary bed, barely even caring about the sudden pain of the stitches I'd pulled with the motion. "Annabeth. Where's...Where's Annabeth?"

I was quickly pressed back down by hands on my shoulders. "Percy, slow down," Thalia ordered, who I'd only just registered was sitting at my bedside. There was a stack of files on the table next to her; I assumed she'd been working through them as something to do while I slept.

I tried to push Thalia's hands away, but found I was too weak and couldn't catch my breath. "You..." I managed. "Did you—"

"Shush," Thalia told me. "It's only been a couple hours since Will put in those stitches. If you pop them, the blood from the transfusion you were given will come rushing back out, okay? Stop fighting me and _lie down._ "

I gave up, flopping back down on my pillow and groaned at the jolt to my shoulder. "Fuck."

Thalia gave me a look. "What did I tell you?"

I glared at her. "I'll be fine, alright? Just tell me if you saved Annabeth." At that, Thalia was silent. Wordless. A sinking feeling pooled in my gut. "Tell me—tell me she's not..."

Thalia cracked her knuckles, a nervous tic of hers. "Please don't lose your shit, okay? We don't know where she is. We tried, Percy, but it was just too chaotic. None of us could find her in the crossfire."

I started shaking my head, balling my hands into fists. "No. No."

"Percy, calm down—"

"Don't tell me to calm down!" I shouted. "You're telling me that SPQR has her? That she's at the mercy of their interrogators?" I dug the heels of my hands into my eye sockets, trying to keep control of my breathing. "Do you realise what this means?" I asked, more slowly. "It won't be long before they work out who she is. That she's Sir's niece, making her the heir of the fucking Organisation."

"I know," Thalia interrupted, firmly. "I know, alright? Everything's gone to shit. Ugliano has Annabeth. The gangs of New York have all been rallied against us. I _know_ we're screwed, you don't have to tell me." I carefully eased myself upright, ignoring Thalia's protests. Swinging my legs off the bed, I bent to check the gunshot wound in my calf. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"What do you think? I'm going to save Annabeth."

She gaped at me. "What, alone? Jackson, we're having a meeting in an hour with the others. Now that the whole city's against us, we have to strike first. We're not sure how yet, but we're going to attempt a full-scale attack against SPQR. If we cut off the head of the beast, Ugliano's alliance will hopefully fall apart."

"I'm coming."

"If you think you can stand, then fine. But if I see you having even the _slightest bit_ of trouble with your injuries, I'm sending you back to the infirmary."

I raised a brow. "You really think you can make me hang out _here_ while Annabeth's in danger?"

"Yes, Percy. Because you've taken two bullets in the last twenty-four hours." At my irritated expression, Thalia sighed. "I know you're capable of carrying out an operation while wounded, okay? But I need you to at least rest up for a while."

I let out a dry laugh. "That's rich, coming from you." Instantly, I felt bad. I'd hit a sore spot and it was clear from the betrayed look that crossed Thalia's face. "Sorry," I muttered. "That was uncalled for. I'm just on edge right now."

Thalia didn't look like she was in the mood to rise to the bait. "Whatever, Jackson," she muttered. "Now, you wanna change into some fresh clothes or what?"

We had some time to kill before the meeting, so Thalia and I headed over to her dorm—but not before I'd nipped into my own room to change out of my bloodstained, tattered suit. Once we were settled inside, she made two mugs of her patented hot chocolate. Handing one to me, she told me, "Careful. It's hot."

"Thanks," I replied. The morphine I'd been given was beginning to wear off, but the pain was getting duller anyway. Still, I was careful not to move my right shoulder too hard. Thalia was right in some respects; I did need to rest up tonight if I was going to be part of the attack which would most likely commence sometime in the next few days, depending on what we decided during the meeting later. Blowing on my hot chocolate to cool it, I sat down in a chair by Thalia's window.

She took the bed, kicking off her combat boots and stretching out. Raising her hot chocolate to her lips, she made a satisfied sound. "Thank God. I've needed this all day."

I grinned. "Some people are addicted to alcohol, others to drugs, and _you're_ addicted to goddamn hot chocolate."

Thalia swore at me, chucking a pillow hard in my direction. I laughed and ducked, not too keen on getting hit in the face. "Says the person who has at least four cigarettes a day."

"Four isn't that bad," I protested. "Besides, I could stop if I wanted to."

"Yeah, right."

"I could!"

She cocked a brow. "So stop," she challenged.

"Fuck off," I muttered, taking a scalding sip of my drink. "It's harder than it looks, alright?"

"Yeah, I know," she conceded. "You could try and quit the way my mom did."

"How did she?"

Thalia rolled onto her front, making a valiant but failed effort not to spill hot chocolate on her bedsheets. "Well, she never used the nicotine patches I bought her. So I started stealing her cigarette packs—she always smoked straights—and cut each cigarette in half before I replaced them. 'Course, I got yelled at for it, but I think my mom could tell how much I wanted her to stop. Anyway, she let me keep doing it. Some sick effort to please me, I think."

"And that helped her quit?" I asked, incredulous. "Wouldn't you just smoke more cigarettes to make up for the fact they're shorter?"

Thalia shrugged. "She did quit in the end, though I'm not sure if my half-cigarette thing actually worked. It was probably just the guilt that did it."

I went quiet for a moment. "I'll try and stop," I said. "After all this."

Thalia gave me a half-smile. "I'm glad." After a moment, she asked, "What will you do, after? Go back to Paris?"

I nodded. "Probably, yeah. Too many loose ends over there I've left untied. But I don't know. I'd like to stay with Annabeth."

At that, Thalia shot me a knowing look. "You two are so sweet," she said, smiling. "But, Percy...You know she's not ever going to be able to leave the Organisation, right? Not while her uncle's around."

I exhaled, watching the steam from my hot chocolate dissipate into the air. "I know," I said quietly. "But I'm not intending to go anywhere she can't follow me." My thoughts wandered to Annabeth, as they so often did. Was she cuffed to an interrogation table beneath blinding lights right now, or was she alone in a dark room? I wanted to help her, but I knew there was nothing to be done right now. Still, that didn't stop me from thinking about all the ways I could kill Gabe for taking Annabeth from me.

"Percy," Thalia said gently.

Her voice roused me from the dissociative state I'd fallen into. I shook my head, chiding myself. "Sorry. I was just—just thinking."

"Don't be sorry." The pause that followed was tangible, weighed down by our ceaseless thoughts. When she spoke again, it was almost a shock. "We're going to save her, you know," she told me. "We're going to save her, and kill Ugliano, and finally take down SPQR. Then I'll have my surgery, and then...maybe we can all go home." The last few words were halting, but determination still bled from her tone.

I smiled at her, trying to summon hope that was barely there. I knew how scared she was—this final surgery dictated whether she'd live or die. And I really, really didn't want to think about her dying. "We will," I said firmly. "We will get to go home."

Thalia sat up, reaching for me. She pulled me into a hug, careful not to hurt my shoulder. "I hope so," she said, then pulled away. "Come on, finish your hot chocolate. It's going cold."

* * *

It was almost eleven 'o' clock by the time we all convened for the meeting. I was tired and ready to pass out into a healing sleep, but I knew we had to start planning the attack if we were going to pull it off. The question wasn't if our forces were strong enough, because we knew they were—it was how to get the element of surprise. If Ugliano had any warning whatsoever, his allies' reinforcements would overrun our squads in seconds. We needed a cohesive plan.

We were all sitting in Will's office. Pages of notes and abandoned plans were stacked on the table before us, but we weren't giving up yet. Nico tapped his pencil on the table. "We need to somehow get one of our people on the inside," he mused. "Buying off one of Ugliano's officers is too dangerous—we could be led straight into a trap."

Thalia leaned back in her chair. "Yeah, but how are we going to go about doing that? This is SPQR headquarters we're talking about. Security is gonna be tight."

"I know my way around the place," I said. "I could get two, maybe three people inside just by capturing a few recruits and swapping out their uniforms. The problem is, how are we going to storm the base without getting shut down?"

Will stared at the notebook in front of him, lost in thought. "We could use those masquerading as recruits to cause some sort of diversion, maybe." He turned to me. "You're positive it'd be possible to sneak one or two people in as recruits?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Back when I was in SPQR, I used to train with new recruits all the time. A lot might have changed since then, but I've cross-referenced what I remember with all the information we've learned from recent interrogations. Long story short: yeah, I could do it."

Thalia hummed. "What about if we reach out to a gang leader who isn't in SPQR? It's not as though the whole city has love for Ugliano, so perhaps we could send in one of our own officers using their identity under the guise of wanting to make some sort of trade with Ugliano himself. That'd be the fastest way to actually work out where he is, while the rest of our forces flood in during the diversion caused by Percy's plan—officers disguised as recruits. That way we could carry out the assassination _and_ overwhelm SPQR's main base at the same time."

I fidgeted with the cuff of my sleeve. Where would Annabeth be during all this? Would it be possible to save her too, even during such a large-scale attack? "I'll go in as one of the recruits," I said slowly. "Maybe I could infiltrate SPQR's prison chambers in the sub-levels of their headquarters; that's where they keep Gabe's political prisoners, so if he's worked out Annabeth's identity then that's where she'll be. I'm certain that breaking into the prison would be a big enough diversion to allow the rest of our forces to flood in."

Will scribbled something down in his notebook, then nodded. "Okay. Nico, you'll go with Percy. Your jobs will be breaking into the prison chambers—make sure the prisoners inside know that it's the Organisation who's liberating them. Use them to create chaos, but remember to save Chase in the process." He wrote something else, then placed his pen down on the table. "I will enter the base under the alias of another gang leader," he continued, "and will arrange to see Ugliano for some sort of trade. Weapons, I think. I already have an inkling about who to ask, but we'll have to wait to see if they'll cooperate."

Thalia folded her arms. "I'll coordinate our offense squads outside the building, though I'll need to reach out to higher-ups for more reinforcements." She rubbed the back of her neck. "I think this plan is possible. We can do this. Tomorrow, we'll carry out all the prep. It's tomorrow night or never, basically. Ugliano is already going to be rallying the gangs, so we have to take SPQR by surprise before they can even think about making their move." Her gaze flickered to my own. "Jackson, do you think you'll be recovered enough by tomorrow? I'd prefer not to send you in with an injury, but..." She shrugged helplessly. "You know the base more intimately than any of us."

Subconsciously, I rolled my shoulder. It still hurt like hell, but I could at least handle a gun with some degree of accuracy. The wound in my calf was superficial; I could run as fast as I'd ever been able to. "I'll be fine," I said. "My shoulder's getting better and my leg isn't giving me trouble at all."

Thalia didn't look convinced, but Will grinned. "Great. So, meeting adjourned, I suppose? Get as much rest as you can, everyone. Tomorrow's an early start."

* * *

The next day was a blur of planning and constant preparation. My shoulder ached as I carried out briefing after briefing, making sure that our attack squads were all ready for nightfall. I tried not to let myself think too hard about the fact that I was voluntarily walking into my stepfather's base; I had to remain calm. Still, every time I felt my anxious thoughts starting to clamour for attention, I would think about Annabeth. Captured and alone, she would die in SPQR's prison chambers if we didn't save her.

Evening rolled around. I changed into the SPQR recruit training gear one of our recon teams had managed to get ahold of, tucking my pistol into its holder and slipping my knives into their forearm sheaths. Lastly, I pulled a black baseball cap over my head. Though I would still be recognised if anyone looked at me too hard, the cap and uniform would hopefully let me slip in unnoticed. As I stared into my bathroom mirror, a feeling of déjà vu washed over me. I remembered standing here before the speakeasy when Annabeth was fixing my tie, her nimble fingers knotting it in place more expertly than I ever could've done it.

I wished she was here. So badly.

Thirty minutes later, Nico and I were in a van and on our way to SPQR's headquarters in Manhattan. It was underground, on the same street as the Flatiron building. Nico's hands were tense on the steering wheel, betraying his nerves. He was dressed similarly to me, clad in SPQR's recruit training gear. He wasn't wearing a cap, however; his face wasn't instantly, dangerously recognisable in the way that mine was.

Rain trickled down the van's windows, forming strange shapes in the condensation. "You remember the plan?" I asked, wanting reassurance.

Nico nodded, making a strand of his black bangs fall into his eyes. He tucked it back with a degree of irritation. "We'll be fine," he muttered, "as long as we get our hands on a high-ranking hostage sooner rather than later."

I checked that my knives were snug in their sheaths, that my ammo was safely tucked into my belt and out of sight. "Don't talk to anyone for too long," I advised. "Everyone knows everyone in SPQR. It won't take much for them to realise we're imposters."

"Or that you're Ugliano's stepson," Nico added, raising an eyebrow.

I let out an anxious sigh, dropping my elbow onto the van's sill panel and leaning on my fist. "Just don't forget the plan, alright?"

Will was going in first through the main entrance, escorted by SPQR officers. He'd bargained with one of the older New York gangs—the Karstein crime family—and, after procuring a good chunk of money from the Organisation's higher-ups, had bought them off. They, famously, had influence within the military and often sold their weapons stocks to SPQR. This was information we'd found out from our SPQR captives.

Will was using the alias Harvey Karstein. Harvey was the son of Lincoln Karstein, the gang's leader, and was set to inherit the role after his father. Harvey was young and not yet well-known, making him the perfect identity for Will to assume. The hope was that Will would be taken straight to Gabe in order to make negotiations, as had been planned, and he'd be able to report Ugliano's whereabouts back to us.

Nico and I were sitting in our van in a back alley behind SPQR's headquarters. We were waiting for the go-ahead from Will, who'd just disappeared inside. Thalia had reported that he was being heavily guarded, as we'd expected. SPQR wouldn't want to harm Harvey for fear of angering the Karsteins, but there was no way they'd let anyone into their main headquarters without an armed escort.

Beside me, Nico kept bouncing his knee. "Why hasn't he contacted us yet?" he muttered, staring in the direction of the base as if he might be able to see Will through the stone walls.

"Stop stressing out," I told him. "He's got to wait until he's left alone to be able to use comms, and we can't go in until we know for sure that they're going to take him to Ugliano."

Just then, the comm set built into the van's interior crackled. Will's voice came through, slightly distorted. " _Alright. They've left me in a waiting room. They said that Ugliano's aware of my presence and has agreed to meet me in just a moment. I think he's pretty eager to negotiate the weapons deal, given his plans to take down the Organisation. I'll keep you updated."_

Nico breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God, he's okay."

"Let's get going. We should be able to walk in through the recruit entrance, but we might be stopped. If we are, I'll do the talking. Yeah?"

"Sounds good."

The alleyways behind SPQR's headquarters all stank of mould and the cobblestones beneath our feet were slowly cracking. Still, I knew the dilapidated state of this area was nothing but a mask. Embedded within the walls' crumbling mortar I expected there'd be cameras, and surveillance teams armed with sniper guns probably lined the buildings above. Hopefully, they'd notice our SPQR uniforms and see nothing but a pair of recruits coming back from a reconnaissance op or a drug run.

What looked from the outside like an abandoned warehouse loomed above us. Even from this distance, hateful nostalgia from my youth was beginning to settle over me like a blanket. I'd been here countless times, always accompanying my stepdad for training or to help him negotiate deals. Every goddamn bone in my body screamed at me to turn back, but I made myself keep moving. _Annabeth. I had to save Annabeth._

I led Nico down a set of steps that looked like an old subway tunnel entrance. He stuck close behind me, hand resting inconspicuously on the holster of his gun. We came to a vault-like door which had the letters SPQR finely engraved into its metal. Two guards stood beside it, pistols in hand. Their collective gaze was heavy but bored—I imagined recruits coming in and out of this entrance was at least an hourly occurrence. "Identify yourselves," one barked.

I stepped forward, and the words spilled easily from my mouth. "Squad 11E."

"Rank and commanding officer?"

"Both recruits," I replied, schooling my face into a neutral expression. _Don't recognise me. Please, don't recognise me._ "Our commanding officer is Lieutenant Juno."

Neither of the guards really seemed to register my voice. One of them turned and inputted a numerical combination into the keypad behind them, and the vault swung open. I nodded at the guards in thanks. As Nico and I walked through, I hardly dared to breathe.

We emerged into the building. It was busier than I'd anticipated—we walked past dozens of bustling recruits and several shooting ranges. I remembered standing in those, after-hours, trying desperately to get a bullseye. I hadn't been a great shot in the beginning, but Gabe hadn't liked that. He'd made sure I improved soon enough.

Nico seemed to sense that my breathing was getting faster, that I was working my way up to a panic attack. He grabbed my sleeve, an anchoring presence. "Calm down," he whispered. "We'll be out of here soon enough."

I nodded, albeit a little frantically. "I know, I know." He was right. Everything would be fine later, but first we had a mission to carry out.

As I guided us through the labyrinthine hallways of the recruit training sector, Nico said, "We need to take a hostage in order to get down to the sub-levels."

"We will, when I see someone of high enough ranking," I replied in a low tone. "If we just capture some expendable recruit, SPQR's security won't give a shit. They'll shoot right through them. Besides, we should wait for another update from Will."

"I hope he's alright," Nico murmured.

I hoped so too, but as time went on and on I was slowly becoming more worried. If Will's identity had been compromised, I didn't want to think of the repercussions. And maybe it was merciless thinking, but our plan would only work if he at least found out Ugliano's location before being discovered.

A few seconds later, Will's voice crackled into the comm set at my ear with perfect timing. " _I've been taken to the upper levels. They told me something to do with a safe room in Sector Nine, which I assume is where the negotiation will happen. Ugliano is there right now, in a board meeting. Something seems weird, though—_ " His connection broke off.

Nico tensed beside me. He tapped a finger to his comm set, turning on the mic. "What? What's off?" Nothing. "Solace, answer me."

Will's connection returned. A tone of unease was bleeding into his words. "— _and they told me to wait here. I think something's off, Nico, the guards are all on edge. I'm not paranoid. Shit, they're back—_ " Silence, for real this time.

Nico was shaking, face ashen. "God, they've got him. They've got him."

I seized his shoulder. "We don't have much time. Get in contact with Thalia, tell her we're splitting up. You go after Will, and I'll go after Annabeth and create a diversion in the prison chambers."

Nico set his jaw, nodding. "How do I get there?"

"Two floors up. Use the service elevator—there should be one right down this hall. Keep in contact, yeah? Don't try and save Will out yourself, just follow from a distance and see where they take him. After I create the diversion, Thalia will signal for our forces to flood in. Stay calm, okay?"

Nico nodded haphazardly, and then he was off. I turned around, heading back into the busy corridors. As soon as I spotted someone of high rank, I'd use them as a hostage. Hopefully, no one would be dumb enough to fire at a commanding officer. And if I revealed my identity, I knew that there was no way I'd be killed. I doubted Ugliano would be pleased if someone killed his stepson after he'd tried for so long to do it by his own hand.

Time blurred into itself. All I could think of was Annabeth, how she was probably alone and scared in my stepfather's hellish prison chambers. I turned the corner of yet another hallway, hand brushing the holster of my gun. My eyes latched onto a man standing in the hallway before me. His back was turned, and he was speaking into a silver, gleaming phone. He looked expensive—that was the only way I could describe it.

Carefully, I flicked the safety of my gun off. The sound startled him. He turned around, bringing his phone away from his ear. I recognised him, though I couldn't recall his name; he was one of Juno's co-ranking officers. Before he could even react, I sprang at him. "What the—"

I jabbed my gun into his back and pulled a knife, setting the blunt edge of my blade against his neck. "Quiet," I hissed. "Do you want a bullet in your back?" The man had enough sense not to struggle, but I could see his hand drifting toward the gun at his belt. In one easy movement, I pulled it out and knocked it to the floor. "I don't think so," I smiled, letting a cruel veneer slip over my features.

"Who the hell are you?" the man demanded, then let out a wheeze when I jabbed the gun harder into his back.

"I said, quiet. Do you have clearance to reach Ugliano's prison chambers?" When he started shaking his head, I turned the blade in my hand ever so slightly to the sharp edge. "Don't lie. Someone of your rank probably carries out interrogations there all the time."

He gasped involuntarily, shrinking away from my knife. "Okay, okay, I'll take you there. Jesus, don't cut my fucking throat!"

"It's Percy, actually."

We stayed quietly hidden on the way to SPQR's prison chambers, mostly out of sight. I hadn't yet released any bullets, and I was glad of it; I'd need them when the fight actually begun. As we descended further and further into the sub-levels of the base, anticipation began to build up in me like frostbite. A tremor settled into my fingers, and it was all I could do not to drop the knife I currently held to my hostage's neck.

We approached a key-card activated elevator. "Scan it," I snapped.

"Okay!" He withdrew a slim card from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and waved it in front of the scanner. To my relief, the light went green and the elevator doors creaked open.

We walked inside. I gestured to the glowing row of buttons next to the door, listing all the sub-levels below us. "Go on. The prison chambers. Remember, one misstep and you're dead." He swallowed audibly, then reached out and tentatively pushed the button that marked the lowest sub-level.

The journey down was long and utterly terrifying. The fluorescent lights of the ceiling above bore down on me with a sickening force, and I tried to tune out the clanking of the elevator's machinery.

The doors slid open. We hadn't even stepped out of the elevator before the guards outside reacted. I instinctively ducked as a bullet sparked on the metal behind us, but the commanding officer I'd captured screamed, raising his hands in alarm. "Don't shoot, please!"

I stepped out. There were three guards, all of them with guns raised. I watched as they registered my knife at his throat, my gun that was pressed against his spine. Then they realised who it was under my control: one of Ugliano's prized lieutenants. "I have a hostage," I announced, voice cold and curt as anything. "You will drop your weapons. You will let me pass. You will wait until I am out of sight before summoning security. If I see any of you activate those comm sets on your ears, then this man is dead—effective immediately."

The guard in front scrambled to drop his gun on the floor, stepping out of my way. The second followed suit instinctively. Realising he couldn't take me on alone, the third guard gave me an irritated, hard glare and laid his weapon down. I walked past quickly, not quite willing to trust the guards. I could feel myself starting to sweat, mostly from fear.

The prison chambers were dimly lit, all grated floors and jail cells lined with bars. As soon as the first prisoner laid eyes on me, they rattled their cage and called out, "Who's this?" Steeling myself, I forced myself to meet their eyes. There were dozens upon dozens of prisoners in the chambers, all of them shouting that an intruder had broken in. Their faces were ragged, animalistic. The glowing red light of a security camera peered down at me, and the realisation hit me that I was running out of time. How was I going to open the doors? My gaze snagged on a control box on the other side of the hallway.

In one brisk motion, I knocked my hostage's legs out from under him and dealt him a swift blow to the temple with the muzzle of my gun. He groaned, rendered incapable of fighting back. "Stay there," I spat. I jogged down the hallway, allowing myself to be surrounded by the prisoners' jeers and taunts. I hadn't found Annabeth yet, but with luck she'd emerge when I opened the doors. "Listen up!" I yelled harshly, addressing the prisoners. "I'm here to break you out. I'm with the Organisation." A ripple of confusion washed over every bleak face in the cages. _The Organisation?_ I heard them murmur. _Are we being saved?_ "All of you need to rush at once," I continued, heading for the control panel. As the prisoners started to realise they really did have a chance at getting out of this hellscape, their shouting built to a crescendo.

I stared at the buttons and levers on the panel, uncertain what to press. Fuck it. I didn't have time to waste; I needed to create a diversion _now_.I raised my gun and bashed it into the panel, again and again and again. Sparks flew, sprinklers went off above us. I was drenched to the skin within seconds, suddenly caught in a mock thunderstorm. My arm was aching with the strain, but I kept going. The thought of leaving Annabeth here tore through me, and I let out a guttural cry of effort as I let the muzzle of my gun collide with the panel with more force than ever before.

To my relief, the collective groan of the cell doors opening echoed through the chamber. The prisoners whooped as they stumbled out, rushing in the direction of the elevator and guards. Most of them were emaciated and bloodied from interrogation, but they were quickly swept up in a haze of adrenaline. "Annabeth?" I called uncertainly. My lone voice was quickly lost to the prison's uproar. I clicked my comm set to update my status, backing against the wall as prisoners rushed past me. "I've liberated the prisoners," I spoke into the mic. "Should be enough of a diversion. I'm still looking for Chase."

Thalia's voice crackled back a second later. " _Roger that, Jackson_. _I'll send an order to the offence teams."_

I hurried down the hallway, dodging fleeing prisoners and shouting, "Annabeth? Where are you?" Desperation seized me. What if she wasn't here? What if she was still in the interrogation rooms?

Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice. "Percy!"

I sped up, rounding a corner. When my gaze fell on Annabeth, cuffed in the corner of a cell, I let out a half-delirious sob. "Oh, thank God." I ran to her, sliding my gun back into its holster. I pulled her into an embrace, inhaling the warmth and smell of her. "God, I missed you."

Annabeth leaned into me, shaking. "I can't believe you're here," she croaked. "I thought I was as good as dead."

I could do nothing but shake my head, reaching up to cup her cheek with a kind of reverence. She had a black eye and a busted lip, and her blonde hair was matted and drenched by the sprinklers that still cascaded water from above us. Still, she was as beautiful as ever. "Who did this to you?" I breathed.

"Juno. She worked it out first, that I'm Sir's niece." Annabeth exhaled shakily. She sounded battered, but not broken. "I'm due for another interrogation in less than an hour. Thank God you came when you did."

Anger rose in me, a suffocating dust storm, but I stifled it. I'd deal with Juno another time. "We're getting out of here," I managed. I lifted my gun and brought its muzzle down hard on the chain of Annabeth's cuffs, shattering them. "Come on." I pulled Annabeth to her feet, holding her against me. She was unsteady on her feet but could stand well enough.

We staggered to the elevator, soaking wet and tired. The base's alarm sounded above us, earsplittingly loud. All the prisoners were gone, which I hoped was a good sign. SPQR would be so busy fending off the sudden attack of all their worst political prisoners at once that our forces would be able to storm the building.

The job was far from done, though. I wanted to kill everyone in the building for hurting Annabeth, but I figured Gabe would be a good start.

The elevator began to rise, its light glaring down on us. Ink-dark shadows on the way up flickered in and out of sight. Annabeth's hand was loosely intertwined with mine. She raised it to her lips, pressing a kiss to my scarred knuckle. "So, what now?" she asked. "We kill your stepfather?"

"You'll need a weapon." I offered her my gun—I could fight with knives alone. She took it, flicking off the safety. A fierce look settled over her. Her gaze was nothing but ruthless steel, cold and forbidden and beautiful.

As we ascended, I realised I'd kill for this girl, die for her, do anything for her—all because she made me forget to be afraid.

We could have everything. In time.

* * *

 **thanks for reading, hopefully you liked it! I really can't believe there's only a couple chapters left of this. feels like I'm slowly coming to the end of a journey. excited for next week's chapter :)**


	24. A Reason To Stay

**CHAPTER 24: A REASON TO STAY**

ANNABETH

Exhaustion had seeped into my bones. Being captured by SPQR had been hellish, and I'd given in to the belief that no one was coming to save me. Except now, my cuffs had been broken and I was in an elevator with Percy, heading up through SPQR headquarters to kill Gabe Ugliano. I had no idea how I had the strength to stand, but I did—somehow.

Beside me, Percy had a grim, determined look on his face. He'd slid both of his knives out of their hidden sheaths in his sleeves, and he was holding the handles so tightly that his knuckles were almost white. Anyone else might've interpreted his demeanour as a fearful one, but I knew better. I nudged him, giving him a quiet smile. He returned it.

Just then, Percy cocked his head, as though listening. A moment later I realised he was receiving directions over comms. He waited for another moment, then brought a hand up to activate his mic. "Yes, I found Chase. We're heading up to Ugliano's safe room to join the fight." Another moment of listening, then, "Yeah, she's armed. I've given her my gun."

"Who was that?" I asked.

"Thalia," he said. "She told me that all our offence squads have successfully infiltrated the building, thanks to our little diversion in the prison chambers. Will's still captured, but Nico's on it. Also, she said to tell you that she's glad you're safe."

"I'm glad, too," I said softly. Percy grinned, pressing a kiss to my hairline. I pushed him away. "Stop it, I'm all gross."

"Nah, you're not." Suddenly, the elevator ground to a stop. "We're here," Percy murmured. "Brace yourself."

I raised my gun, planting my feet. "You're gonna need to lead the way." The elevator doors ground open with the screech of metal. Outside was a dark hallway, thankfully free of guards. We stepped out.

Up here, the sound of gunfire echoed through the walls. Percy advanced, checking around the corner. "We're clear," he said, waving me forward.

"Where are we going?" I asked, keeping pace with him as we headed through the winding hallways.

"Sector Nine. Before Will got captured, he learned that Gabe is hiding in a safe room there. While Thalia's squads are busy storming the base, we'll break into the safe room. Hopefully, with the element of surprise..." He trailed off. I didn't need him to finish; I knew how much of a long shot this assassination was.

I glanced through the window of a door, then ducked down with a curse. "Shit. There's guards."

"How many?"

"Four," I answered. "Think you can hit the closest one with your knives from this distance?"

Percy peeked through the glass, then nodded. "Sure. You ready?"

"Let's go." We burst through the doors, bullets already flying from my gun. Before they could even react, I felled three of them with gunshots to the torso. Percy unleashed his knives. One missed, but the other embedded itself into the remaining guard's throat. He choked, letting his pistol clatter to the floor.

As we stepped around them, Percy retrieved his knives, then grabbed the guard's dropped gun and removed a couple clips of ammo from his belt. He led us up a set of stairs, keeping to the shadows. "Not far now," he murmured.

It took us around fifteen minutes of jogging through the hallways, checking for guards and taking down the ones in our way before we made it to Sector Nine. Percy's ammo depleted quickly, and soon enough he was back to his knives. I'd never seen Percy like this before—so fierce, so unstoppable. I knew he wasn't invincible, but sometimes it seemed like it.

The sound of gunfire got louder and louder the further we advanced through Sector Nine. We came to a large atrium, but the door to it was locked by a keypad. Through the window, I could see dozens of hazy figures fighting. Some of them I recognised as members of our squads.

Percy turned on his mic to contact Thalia. "What's going on? We're in Sector Nine. There's lots of fighting going on but we can't get through the door to the sector's main atrium." I couldn't hear Percy's reply, but, judging by the ashen quality his face gained, it wasn't good news. He turned on his mic to reply to Thalia. "Okay. We'll try and break through this door. Tell the squads on the other side to try and hold off Ugliano's reinforcements for as long as possible. Annabeth and I will try and slip past the action."

"What did she say?" I pried.

"My stepdad's reinforcements are turning the tide of the fighting. Those squads we can see through the door have found the safe room, but SPQR has them occupied."

I looked through the window. Even from here, there were so many reinforcements that it looked hopeless. "I don't think we can slip by unnoticed. There's too many of them."

"Then we're going to have to fight."

I raised my gun and shot once, twice, three times at the keypad. It sparked as each bullet tore through it, but the light above the door remained stubbornly red. A wave of frustration crashed over me. With a guttural cry, I turned my gun around and raised it above my head, bashing the keypad again and again. Finally, it fell apart. The light above the door flashed green as it swung open.

We stepped through it, exchanging a look as I reloaded my gun. Under the fluorescent light, Percy's eyes were bright and steadfast. Shrugging off my fear like a coat, I set my jaw and raised my weapon. Together, we threw ourselves into the fight.

My conscious mind melted away as I gave into muscle memory. We worked as partners, taking down officer after officer as we cut a path through the action. Around us, bullets flew. Pained shouts echoed through the atrium, belonging both to our own recruits and to SPQR.

Beside me, Percy tore one of his knives out of a SPQR recruit's neck. There was blood splattered all over us. I was heaving for breath. We'd made it to the opposite side of the atrium and ahead of us stood a door. Like the previous one, it had a keypad. "Go break through it!" I yelled at Percy, turning towards two recruits who were both running at me. Percy nodded. I unleashed a hail of bullets into one of them, ducked underneath the returned fire, and shot down the other from my position on the ground.

I bought Percy as much time as I could. Just as I was starting to tire, Percy called my name. "Annabeth! It's open, come on!"

I whirled around and sprinted through the door, hoping that the rest of the SPQR recruits were too preoccupied to have seen us get past them. I glanced around us as we headed through this new, dark hallway. I felt on edge, expecting someone to leap out at us at any moment. Percy raised a hand to his mic to report to Thalia. "We've made it past the atrium and are currently heading through the hallway leading from it. Is this the way to the safe room?" Whatever Thalia said seemed to satisfy him, as he kept leading us forward into the darkness. I moved closer to him, anticipation building up within me like bitter frost.

We approached a corner. Percy held a finger to his lips as he peeked around it. When he leaned back, the breath rushed out of him. "A vault. Juno and three others are guarding it. All of them are heavily armed with submachine guns."

"It must be the safe room," I whispered back. "How are we gonna get inside?"

Percy's grip tightened on his knives. Voice low, he met my eyes. "We need to somehow convince them to open it. I'm guessing Juno has the key card."

I sagged slightly. The recent exertion from fighting and the pain from the injuries Juno had given me were catching up with me. It seemed hopeless, a suicide mission. "So, what do we do?"

Percy shrugged. "Walk right up to them, say we want to negotiate with Ugliano? Maybe they'll take us inside the safe room to him. He'll want to see me, no doubt."

I shook my head. "Too risky. They might just kill us on the spot."

"Got a better idea?"

I didn't. Exhaling slowly to calm my nerves, I placed my gun on the ground. Percy slid one of his knives into the fabric of his gear, concealing it. "What if they pat you down?" I asked.

"That's a chance I'll have to take." Neither of us moved for a moment, taking in one another. With finality, Percy leaned forward and kissed me, lingering and sweet. His lips were chapped, but so were my own. As he pulled away, all I could think was that I wanted us to survive—if only so I'd get to kiss him again.

"God, I love you," I said breathlessly, almost without meaning to.

Percy smiled, eyes softening. "I love you too, Chase. Ready to walk to our deaths?"

"Of course," I answered.

Together, we stepped out, empty hands raised in complete surrender. "Don't shoot!" Percy called.

The guards reacted, stiffening as they raised their guns. "One more step and you're dead!" one yelled.

Juno held up a hand to silence him. "Quiet," she ordered, then turned her head slowly back to us, snake-like. Her dark hair fell over her shoulder as she did so. "Well, look who it is. My favourite student, and..." She inclined her head, considering. "Is that Annabeth Chase? Oh, that's right. You must've escaped with the other prisoners. How sad. I was looking forward to our next playdate."

Beside me, Percy tensed with anger. I shot him a warning look, then slipped my most persuasive smile onto my face. "We're here to negotiate with Ugliano. We have a proposition for him that we think he'll be interested in."

Juno's expression turned ugly. "And what might that be?"

Percy stepped forward, palms still raised in surrender. "Actually, we'd like to speak with my stepfather personally."

Juno's eyes snapped to him, venomous. "I'm surprised you have the gall to ask that, considering what you _personally_ did to my legs." It was then I noticed that her calves were still clad in braces. She raised her submachine gun, aiming it at Percy. "Maybe I should shoot you in the kneecaps in the same way you did it to me. Let you bleed out while your girlfriend watches."

Undeterred, Percy refused to back down. "I don't think Gabe would be happy if you took the pleasure of killing me away from him."

Juno snarled. "He'd get over it."

Percy laughed, a jarringly incongruous sound. "If you think that, you don't know him as well as I do."

Juno's resulting glare was almost tangible. "Then maybe I'll just kill Miss Chase here. He wouldn't mind that, would he now?"

Fear bolted through me. I forced myself to remain calm, to resist the urge to turn around and run. "If you kill me," I said, "my uncle will stop at nothing to destroy SPQR. He'll raise an army against you. He'll raze this base to the ground, and all the others." The lies slid from my tongue easily; I knew Sir wouldn't lift a finger to avenge me. After all, he'd killed my father himself—his own brother, purely in a bid to assume his power.

Juno scoffed. She walked haltingly towards us, shifting her gun so it was trained on me. "Maybe that's true," she said. "But the war against your Organisation has already been started. And hell, if killing you adds some bad blood to the fight?" She shrugged. "Well, that means nothing to me." I braced myself. I hadn't expected my life to end like this, but it looked like it was going to. Juno's finger settled on the trigger, and I heard Percy's breath catch. But before any words left his mouth, Juno tilted her gun up toward the ceiling, away from me. "Still, as much as I would love to kill you, I'm interested in what you have to say to Gabe. And I really, _really_ doubt Percy here will continue to cooperate if I put a bullet in your head right here, right now." She stepped closer to me, voice dropping to a whisper. "Afterwards, though, I'll have my fun." She gestured for her two guards to come forward with a sharp jerk of her head. "Restrain them."

As each guard wrestled our hands behind our backs, I shot Percy a glance. With our hands bound in zip ties, how were we going to overwhelm the guards—and Juno? The possibility of our deaths seemed to loom larger and larger with every passing second.

Juno pulled a key card out of a hidden pocket and swiped in front of the card reader by the vault. With terrible finality, the vault slowly ground open.

A small room was revealed. Its walls were lined with monitors and a table was set up in the very centre. Ugliano was standing beside it, his back turned to us. He was wearing a businessman's suit and was holding a phone up to his ear. He was speaking angrily into it, but at the sound of the vault opening behind him he turned around. Seeing us, he ended the call. A slow smile crossed his face as he registered first Percy's face, then mine. "Oh, Juno. Look what you've dragged in."

I tried not to flinch as the vault screeched shut behind us. My wrists were beginning to ache from the pain of the plastic of my zip ties digging in, but I ignored it. How was I going to get us out of this situation? I started running through plans in my head, but most of them came up short. _Just keep him talking—every minute we waste is another minute he spends not killing us._ Wrangling my expression into submission, I forced confidence onto my face. "We're here to negotiate."

Interest flickered across Ugliano's face. He walked around the side of his table, never breaking eye contact with me. "And what is it that you want to talk about?" he asked. His beady gaze slid to Percy, his smile widening. "You know, I thought you'd slipped past my clutches once and for all. But somehow...here you are."

Percy looked sickened, afraid. I couldn't even begin to imagine what he was feeling right now. "Why did you do it?" he asked suddenly, and the question was so out of context that I had to baulk. I opened my mouth to stop him from screwing this up, but no words came out. For once, all my elaborate lies were out of reach.

Confusion twisted itself into the curve of Gabe's lip. "Do what, exactly?"

I stared at Percy. He needed to say something before Gabe got bored and decided to shoot both of us. He shook his head, looking tired. "I don't know. All of it," he muttered. "I guess that doesn't matter, now."

"I'm not sure what pathetic attempt at an assassination this is supposed to be, but I think we can all agree that it's over." Gabe appraised him for a moment longer. What he saw in his stepson's expression, I couldn't tell, but it seemed to cause some sort of change in his thinking. "You should join me," he said. "Be my lieutenant. Become what I was always training you to become." Something manic crept into Ugliano's eyes. "Be my son again. You'd have all the power in the world, all the wealth you've ever desired." He paused, then gestured flippantly to me. "I'll even let your girl here live."

Percy's expression was shuttered. Unreadable. His lip trembled, and I wondered for a moment if that was fear on his face. Then I realised it was nothing but cold, hard anger. "I will never join you," Percy spat. "I'd rather be dead."

Gabe stiffened. With a snarl, he backhanded Percy with the impetus of a lightning strike. Percy let out a grunt of pain, caving into himself. "You're so much like your mother," Gabe snapped. I watched in horror as Gabe grabbed Percy by the collar of his shirt, forcing him roughly to his knees. The guard who'd been holding Percy stepped back as Gabe removed a pistol from his belt, clicking off the safety. My breath caught in my throat as he pressed the muzzle of his gun to his stepson's forehead. "You could've been the heir of my empire, Percy," he murmured. "Now look at you."

"No!" I screamed, thrashing helplessly in the guard's iron grip. I felt the skin of my wrists grow slick with blood as my zip ties cut into them as I struggled, but the pain was distant. I had to save him. Without Percy, my universe would freeze over. He was the only thing left that I loved in this fucking hellscape of a world, and damn it all if I'd let him die.

With all the force I could muster, I planted a solid kick in the groin of the guard behind me. He doubled over with a wheeze, his grip on me loosening. _Save Percy_ was the only thought left in my mind. Within a heartbeat I flew at Gabe, knocking him off balance with a hard shove, hands still tied behind me. His gun clattered onto the floor. Percy rose to his feet, spitting blood from Gabe's slap. In one easy, practiced manoeuvre, he broke his zip ties. Without missing a beat, he pulled the concealed knife from his sleeve and spun, slashing the throat of the guard behind him. A second later, he cut through my own ties.

Ducking a hail of bullets from the remaining guard, I side-stepped while he reloaded and landed a well-placed kick to the back of his knees. As he crumpled, I wrenched the submachine gun from his hands. Squeezing the trigger, I shot him, dead, to the floor.

Juno cursed viciously, training her gun on me. But before she could even react, I leapt up onto the table and vaulted off, knocking Juno to the floor with a flying kick. Her gun slipped out of her hand as she coughed, winded. I knelt on her chest, pressing the air out of her lungs. Raw, unadulterated fear flashed over Juno's face. "Don't," she rasped.

I smiled grimly. "Next time, think twice about who you knock around in the interrogation room." I fired once into her chest, then again.

Stepping back quickly, I turned around in time to see Percy lunge at Gabe, bare-handed. He looked fierce, vengeful, barely human as he latched his hands around Gabe's neck, driving his knee brutally up into his stomach. Gabe's hands scrabbled helplessly at Percy's vice grip around his neck as Percy slammed him against the wall, thumbs still digging into his windpipe. Already, Gabe's lips were tinged blue. "For years, you chased me. Haunted me. I spent half my life sleeping in gutters because of you," Percy hissed, voice hoarse. "I could never escape. Why couldn't you just fucking leave me _alone_?"

I could do nothing but watch in a disconnected haze as Gabe reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a small, glinting blade. A warning rose to my lips as I reached out desperately, unable to stop what I knew was about to happen. Everything seemed to fall into slow motion as Gabe pushed the knife into Percy's gut, a cruel grin tugging at his mouth even as he gagged for air. "Percy, get back! Please!" I shouted, raising my gun. I couldn't fire; I might hit Percy. _What if he dies what if he dies what if he—_

Pain contorted Percy's features, but, if anything, his strangling grip around Gabe's throat seemed to tighten. "You killed her," he said detachedly, quietly. "You deserve this." In that instant, I watched the life slip away from Gabe's eyes. He slumped, hand falling away from the blade he'd been twisting into Percy's gut.

I ran forward, dropping my gun. Percy collapsed, shaking. He seemed able to do nothing but stare downward at the knife handle sticking out of him. "He's dead, right?" he asked, quietly.

My heart shattered for him. "Yeah, he is." I fell to my knees beside him, letting him lean on me. "God," I mumbled, desperately applying pressure around the blade's entry point. My vision was swimming. His blood was seeping out between my fingers, crimson and hot. "You're not allowed to die," I told him. "Got it?"

"I won't. I won't," he said, but his eyelids were going heavy. All I could think was that there'd be nothing left for me to live for if those green eyes closed. He'd given me so much: his affection, his kindness, a reason to stay. I kissed him fervently, hoping that it might somehow tether him to his body. Percy looked at me then, an absent smile on his beautiful face. "I love you, Annabeth," he murmured, voice barely audible.

I was crying now, almost deliriously. "I love you too, okay? Try and stay awake." Careful to keep constant pressure on his wound, I removed his comm set and placed it in my own ear. Turning on the mic, I tried to steady my voice. "Ugliano is dead," I reported. "Percy's in critical condition. We need urgent assistance."

Blessedly, Thalia's voice crackled over comms a second later. " _Our squads are outside the safe room now, trying to break in—just keep him alive for a few more minutes. We have successfully overrun the base. The rest of the gangs that Ugliano allied with seem to be backing off."_ A pause. " _I'm really glad you're okay, Chase._ "

A sob built up in my throat. "Just come and save him."

* * *

 **thanks for reading, especially to all my lovely reviewers! your thoughts mean the world to me and inspire me to keep writing. this is, unbelievably, the penultimate chapter! next chapter will be the epilogue :)**


	25. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

" _Love, for you, is larger than the usual romantic love. It's like a religion. It's terrifying." — R.S._

ANNABETH

The next few hours bled into each other. I stayed with Percy the whole time, refusing to let go of his hand even as Will's medical team loaded him onto a stretcher. Thalia took one look at the state of me and told me to head back to base. "I can handle things here," she said.

Percy didn't wake up. Not that first night. I resigned myself to sitting at his bedside, listening to the endless droning of his heart-rate monitor. Even on the brink of death, he was beautiful—the dark circles under his eyes looked more like crescent moons, and his bruised face held an ethereal quality. I pushed his hair away from his face, watching for any sign of consciousness behind his closed eyelids.

Will had told me how unlikely it was that he would wake up so soon, but...there was nothing stopping me from hoping. I knew I had to give him a day or two, give his body time to heal. Though he was no longer in immediate danger of dying, a thousand things could still go wrong. Still, I had to believe he would be okay. He'd promised.

A day lapsed. I only left Percy's bedside three times: once to shower, once to attend a meeting with Thalia and the others, and finally to take a call with my uncle. Sir seemed pleased that I'd had a hand in preserving the Organisation's powerful influence in New York and crippling SPQR, but he didn't express much happiness about my rescue.

We spoke for around an hour, arguing. "When I come back to Paris in a few days, I'm not going to reassume my position. I will continue to support you, but I don't want to deal with your crap anymore," I'd told him. He'd screamed at me, shouted profanities, but it didn't take long for his anger to boil down to acceptance. I knew he was secretly pleased that I no longer threatened his leadership. Somehow, the call ended civilly. He assented to giving me time away from the Organisation, but little did he know that I never planned to return.

It was early morning the next day when Percy finally stirred. I'd been asleep, slumped in a chair beside him. I woke up to Percy's hoarse voice. "Annabeth. Annabeth."

"Hmm?" It took me a moment to fully realise that Percy was awake, but once I did, I broke out into smiles and encased him in a suffocating hug. "Fuck, you're alive. You're alive," I murmured into his shoulder.

He hugged me back, laughing. "Yeah," he rasped. "Couldn't have died anyway. You told me...you told me not to." I squeezed him for a moment longer, before he groaned. "Not so tight. Can't—can't breathe."

"Sorry," I relented. I let go, dropping my hand to where his own rested on the mattress. "How are you feeling?"

He gingerly touched his bandaged stomach, wincing. "Like roadkill." He paused. "But that doesn't matter, 'cause you're here."

* * *

Before Percy and I could head back to Paris, we had a lot of loose ends to tie up. Once he was given the go-ahead to start walking around again, we helped each other pack. Neither of us had many material belongings, so thankfully it wasn't too much of a headache to get all our shit together. What was way harder was saying goodbye to everyone in New York. Thalia had her surgery in two weeks and one more chemo appointment before that, so she couldn't come with us to Paris just yet.

Still, she accompanied us to the airport. We stood in the main entry hall under a shaft of golden evening light, filtered from the ceiling's windows. "You better say hi to Jason for me," she demanded.

I pulled her into a hug, trying not to think about how thin she'd gotten due to all the chemo. But despite the ashen quality of her skin and the way her hair was going all patchy, she still commanded a strength I'd never be able to summon. "Good luck with the surgery," I told her. "It's gonna go great, and then we'll see you in Paris, alright?"

"I can't wait," she smiled into my shoulder. "Fuckin' love you, blondie."

"Love you too, Thals." Reluctantly, I pulled away.

Beside me, Percy stepped forward. "God, I'm gonna miss you." He gathered Thalia into a hug, nosing into her hair.

She wriggled, laughing. "Get off me, you twat."

Percy didn't seem discouraged. He held her for a moment longer, then let go. "Text me every day, alright?"

"I will," she promised. With that, she turned to leave. Waving over her shoulder, she called, "See you in two weeks!"

We waved for a moment, watching her head off. Percy turned to me, offering me his elbow. "Shall we go?"

I laughed, lacing my arm through his. "Sure." Suitcases in hand, we set off.

* * *

PERCY

Somehow, the flight wasn't hellish. Yeah, I felt like throwing up as soon as we were airborne, but the warmth of Annabeth's hand in my own had my heart thumping in a different way. We stared out the window together, marvelling at the city lights of New York below us that shone through the obsolete darkness. "I'm happy we're leaving," Annabeth murmured beside me.

I shared the sentiment. Most of the memories I'd gained here were unkind ones; I was grateful to leave the image of Gabe's dying moments in a different continent. Leaning my head against hers, I said, "Yeah. Paris is more like home." Annabeth nodded. From here, I could smell her hair—the new shampoo she'd been using smelled faintly of jasmine. Carefully, I said, "Remember when we were talking about disappearing together? Travelling the world and all that?"

Annabeth turned her head away from the window to look at me. "What are you saying?" she asked cautiously.

Unable to bear the weight of her gaze, I looked down at where our fingers were intertwined on my knee. "Well," I started, "What if we just...did that? Sir's already given you leave. What's stopping us?"

Annabeth didn't answer for a moment. She sighed, looking back out the window. Our plane was still rising through the clouds, having not yet reached its final altitude. "That would be heaven," she said quietly. "And utterly insane."

I laughed, self-deprecating. "Probably. But don't you want to know what it feels like to have real freedom? To see everything that's beautiful in the world?"

At that, Annabeth looked back at me. "I already have." But before I could ruminate on how fucking sappy that was, she kissed me on the tip of my nose, stealing my breath. "But yes. I'd like to go. I'd go anywhere with you, to be honest."

"Where first?" I asked.

Annabeth shrugged, settling her head onto my shoulder. "Somewhere with history."

I cocked a brow, smiling. "Or somewhere with a beach—we could sit by the waves, sipping cocktails."

She laughed. "I'd be happy with sitting by a goddamn warzone, as long as I was with you." At that, I was silent for a moment, struck by the freckles on her nose. _There must be hundreds,_ I mused internally. I must've had a dumb look on my face, though, because Annabeth pushed me away with a laugh. "Don't be a fucking sap."

Incredulous, I pushed her back. "Says you!"

Rolling her eyes, she said, "Whatever. Now quit moving, okay?" She lay her head back on me, making a content noise. Above us, the plane's strip lights dimmed to a soft, sleepy blue. "Wake me up in a few hours," she whispered.

Something melted in my chest. "Okay," I whispered back.

* * *

Emerging from Paris' airport felt like a homecoming. As we hailed a cab, rain began to drizzle from the skies. We stood on the sidewalk, enduring the rain as it intensified, soaking us to the skin. Our ride pulled up. We clambered in, laughing, hands still joined. Being here again was a fever dream—a welcome one.

Even though it was midday, both of us were bone-tired due to the jet lag. Still, I don't know how I could've slept. When we walked back into the base, we were immediately surrounded by old faces. Reyna hugged me stiffly, but her expression betrayed relief. "Heard you almost died," she muttered into my ear.

I laughed sheepishly. "Kinda, yeah."

As soon as Reyna pulled away, Lou Ellen was on me. "Fucking hell, Jackson. Should've known you'd go to New York for an innocent recon mission and return having killed the Butcher."

"Leave off him," a familiar voice ordered.

I turned to see Jason walking up behind us, a smile on his face. Annabeth shrieked and ran at him, throwing her arms around his neck. "Grace!"

He hugged her back, grinning even wider. "It's good to see you both alive."

"You too," I smiled.

"By the way, Thalia says hi," Annabeth added. "She's gonna head over to Paris after her surgery."

"I know," Jason said. "Can't wait for her to come back. It feels like she's been gone forever."

I turned to Reyna. "What's happened in Paris since we've been gone?"

She groaned. "Too much. I feel like I've aged sixty years."

"You're right about that one," Jason said. "I'm ready to fucking retire."

Lou Ellen laughed. "Good luck getting Sir to agree to that."

"Don't remind me," he muttered.

"How's Piper been?" I asked. "You've still been visiting her, right?"

To my surprise, Jason blushed. "Well, um...She's good."

I raised a brow. " _Good_? Am I right in thinking something happened between you two?"

At that, Jason groaned, burying his face in his hands. "At first, she was a goddamn nightmare. But then we warmed up to each other." He shrugged. "She's kind of magic, okay? Fucked to hell in the head—I mean, we all are—but she's kind of magic."

I grinned. "Have to say, I never expected that. Thought she'd kick you to the curb as soon as you showed your face."

With a laugh, Jason shook his head. "I never expected it either."

Annabeth nudged him with her elbow, a half-smile on her face. "You're getting soft. Also, you better tell us everything at feeding later."

He folded his arms. "I'm not soft. And what makes you think I'm telling you anything?"

"Well, I'm visiting Piper tomorrow," I said, "so I'll get the details either way."

Jason looked put out. He turned to Annabeth and said, "You should've left this one in America."

Annabeth laughed. Looking up at me, she slipped her fingers between my own. "Actually, I think I'll keep him here."

* * *

That evening, Annabeth and I wandered up to her dorm, kissing and talking the whole way. She looked like an angel. Her curly hair was all messed up from me running my hands through it, and, though it was impossible, her lips seemed to get softer with every kiss I placed on them. Once, kissing her had been like waging wars between our lips, but now it felt like finding a hard-fought peace.

It was around midnight by the time we stumbled into her dorm. We changed into some more comfortable clothes—Annabeth wore an oversized shirt and shorts, while I borrowed a baggy pair of Annabeth's sweatpants and a hoodie. After making some hot chocolate, we lay on Annabeth's bed to relax. "Can I choose a movie?" she asked, opening her laptop.

"Only if you pick a good one." I took a sip of my hot chocolate, then made a face when it burned my tongue.

I watched Annabeth scroll through 123Movies, her brows all scrunched up in consideration. "Oh, I know. Have you seen _Les Enfants du Paradis_?"

"Don't think so."

"It's an old French noir. You'll like it, honestly."

I made a face. "Foreign movies are kinda hit or miss in my opinion."

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "You speak French! It's not like you'll even need the subtitles." She got up quickly to turn off the lights, then bounced back onto the bed. Pressing play, she moved the laptop closer and sat back with me against the headboard. I turned up the volume, sliding my arm around her.

Now that the lights were off, the light cast from the screen created an eerie glow. Paired with the silvery moonlight coming through the window and the fact that the movie was in black and white, it was sort of like my vision had faded into monochrome.

Annabeth's face was ghostly, all slanted cheekbones and shadowed eye sockets. I couldn't stop staring at her. A moment passed before Annabeth realised my gaze hadn't left her face. She smiled softly, reaching up to tilt my head back towards the laptop. "Come on, watch," she told me.

I did.

* * *

The next day, I woke up to hazy sunlight filtering through Annabeth's blinds. She was still asleep. A golden shaft of light had fallen across her face, lighting up her blonde eyelashes. I just looked at her for a moment, smiling, then reached out and gently shook her shoulder. "Hey, Chase. Wake up."

She mumbled in her sleep, turning over. "Just a minute."

Shaking my head, I got out from underneath the warm covers and started changing out of my pyjamas and into the clothes I'd left on the floor. "I'll see you this evening, alright? There's a train to Versailles I've gotta be on."

At that, Annabeth reached out, eyes half-lidded. "Kiss?" she asked.

Laughing, I started buttoning up my shirt as I walked over. Pressing a kiss to her cheek, I tucked a messy strand of hair behind her ear. "I'll be back."

"You better," she mumbled, closing her eyes again.

I managed to catch my train—barely. I was panting slightly by the time I slid into a vacant seat. Thankfully, it was by a window, so I could lean against the cool, condensation-covered glass and watch the world go by.

It took me just over an hour to get to Versailles, and then it was another twenty minutes by bus to Piper's rehab. Like last time, they patted me down for substances before waving me through a metal detector. The receptionist pushed a small, yellow slip towards me and then pressed a pen into my hand, telling me to sign my name. "You're here for McLean? She's in the mess hall," he said, then gave me some brisk directions.

I wandered through the hallways, poking my head around corners as I searched. Finally, I walked into a large cafeteria. Various people were sitting around tables, playing board games and eating lunch. I cast my eyes across the room until my gaze snagged on Piper. She was sitting on a bench by the glass door that opened into the institution's courtyard. I called Piper's name, smiling as I raised my hand in greeting.

She looked up. At first she seemed confused, but when her eyes landed on me a halting smile tugged at her mouth. Standing up, she took a few lurching steps towards me. "Jackson?" she asked, hesitant, as though she could scarcely believe it. Her accent rounded out the vowels of my surname in such a familiar way that I almost crumpled in relief.

"McLean!" I sped up, eliminating the rest of the distance between us.

We collided, arms slotting around each other. " _Dieu_ , I thought you were still in America," she said, her words half-muffled by the fabric of my jacket.

"Came home yesterday," I grinned. We pulled away, but only by an inch—neither of us could let go just yet. Piper looked so healthy, healthier than I'd ever seen her; she seemed to have gained back most of the weight she'd lost when she'd relapsed, and her smile looked beautifully genuine. Unable to stifle the urge, I hugged her again. "God, I missed you so much."

Piper laughed. "I missed you too." We pulled away for real this time, smiling at each other like idiots. "How was New York? You better not have had too much fun without me."

"Well, you know me. I'm such a party animal. Can't go anywhere without getting stabbed or shot."

At that, Piper winced. "Jason mentioned that," she said, reaching out to lift the hem of my shirt to reveal my still-bandaged torso. "I'm starting to think you're indestructible."

"Me too, if I'm honest." I was quiet for a moment. "So...Jason?"

Piper groaned. "He just had to open his mouth, didn't he?" She grabbed my sleeve and spun, dragging me along behind her. "Before I fill you in, let's go outside. I need a fag."

In the courtyard, nothing much had changed. We sat down at the same bench as last time. It was cold out here, but thankfully the rain had stopped a while ago. I blew on my hands while Piper got her papers out. She rolled herself one, then passed me her baccy pouch so I could too. My fingers were beginning to go numb in the bitter air, but I still made quick work of it; rolling cigarettes was muscle memory at this point. Piper handed me her baby-pink lighter. "Thanks," I said. With one hand cupped around the weak flame, I singed the end of my fag.

"I'm glad you came back," Piper said, wrapping her jacket tighter around herself as she leaned against me. She blew out a plume of smoke. I watched as it dissipated into nothing, torn apart by the biting breeze.

"I'll always come back. I'd get homesick otherwise."

"Homesick...being so far from Paris?"

I nudged her. "No, idiot. Being so far from you."

Piper's resulting "Oh," was soundless, but it was clear as day that her mood lifted from the way the crease between her brows smoothed over. "You know, I'm getting out of here in a couple months. I might go live with Jason in the city."

I turned to her. "Really? Piper, that's amazing."

She smiled. "Yeah. I'm completely past the withdrawal stage now. I kinda realised how much I never want to relive those days, so that's my motivation. Also..." A red blush rose to the heights of her brown cheekbones. "I'm glad you sent Jason to check on me. Even though I was irritated by him at first, he was what I needed. Someone to talk to, to lean on when you couldn't be here." She paused. "After Roxanne died, I thought for so long that she'd taken all my affection with her. Jason was— _is_ proof that I was wrong."

"I'm sorry I left," I said quietly. "I know you needed me here. I know things would've been easier."

Piper shook her head. "No. No, Percy. I missed you, but it was enough to know that you weren't gone forever. I know you had shit to deal with in America. I doubt it was fun for you, either."

"Maybe not, but I should've prioritised you. I should've—"

"Percy, no." Her voice was absolute. "I don't need your guilt. You sent me Jason, and that was enough, alright? I'm grateful. Not...not resentful."

I sighed, staring at the ash that had accumulated on the end of my cigarette. "God, I know. I'm just overthinking."

"You always do," she murmured in French. Piper finished her fag, stamping it out on the bench beside her. Its wood was slightly pockmarked with circular burns; they were evidence of how many times she'd sat here. "So, how's Annabeth? I heard you two are doing good."

"Yeah, well..." My mind wandered to this morning, waking up to see Annabeth still sleeping, hazily beautiful under the golden morning light. She was something I knew I'd probably become addicted to. Something I never wanted to give up. "We're okay. Happy, finally. Annabeth's uncle has agreed to let her abandon her office, so I think we're gonna fuck off for a little while. See the world, maybe. But we'll be back."

Piper grinned. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

I scoffed. "Shut up. There's nothing you wouldn't do."

"Fair enough." We both laughed. I realised that this was the first time I'd seen Piper properly _happy_ since we'd been doing our performing gigs.

I took a final drag of my cigarette, then stamped it out on the wood like Piper had. "I'm cold. You done smoking?"

She stood up, tugging me with her. "Yeah. Let's go in."

* * *

ANNABETH

Only four months had passed since Percy and I had started travelling, but since we'd left it felt like I'd been living in a different lifetime. We'd left in the middle of the light, laughing as we piled our luggage into a cab and high-tailed it to the airport. When we'd landed in Italy, my vision had been drenched in euphoria.

Rome was our first destination. Then Venice, then Naples. The entire time, neither Percy nor I could stop smiling. Surrounded by history that was bigger and more important than us, we somehow still felt larger than life. We held hands on a gondola, floating down Venice's canals. I remember Percy kissing me, telling me he'd decided that he must be dreaming.

Another thing: since we'd started travelling, Percy had started wearing long-sleeved shirts less and less, no longer hiding his scarred forearms. He'd claimed it was because it was hot and he didn't want weird tan lines, but I knew it was more than that. His headspace had changed for the better. I was proud of him.

After Venice, we took a ferry to Greece. We realised we'd burned through half our money, so Percy busked on the streets for a few days to pool some extra cash. It'd been a long time since I'd heard his singing voice—hoarse yet fluid, like the wind. The locals seemed enchanted by him; he made us a hundred euros in three days.

We ended up on Crete, where a small flat became our home for two weeks. It was far more affordable than most of the accommodation we'd stayed in due to its leaking pipes and drafty walls. Barely comfortable, by most people's standards, but it was enough for us.

One night, we found ourselves walking barefoot along the vacant beach, hand-in-hand. The sand was cool and damp between my toes. The sun had set a while ago, but it wasn't cold; the day's warmth still clung to the air around us.

I looked over at Percy. Awash in moonlight, he was a landscape of soft shadows and glowing skin. A fag hung from between two of his fingers. These days, it was rare I ever saw him smoking. He raised it to his lips, exhaling smoke that was barely visible in the dim light. He wasn't looking at me. No, his attention was on the silver-speckled ocean that stretched out infinitely before us. Where it overlapped the horizon, its shimmering waves melted away into quiet, earnest oblivion.

I let myself stare at him for a moment. He was beautiful, a cigarette daydream—all musty, yellow fingertips and glassy green eyes that seemed to spark in the darkness. I nudged him, squeezing his hand. "You alright?"

He tore his gaze away from the ocean and back to me. "Yeah. Just…" He waved his hand where it was intertwined with mine. "Just thinking."

"About good things or bad things?"

Percy laughed. "Good things."

I smiled. "I'm glad." He dropped his cigarette, stamping it out on the wet sand. Before I could chide him for littering, he grabbed my waist with both hands and lifted me up, spinning us round and round in circles. Laughter exploded from me. "Put me down!" I demanded, struggling in his arms.

He nosed into my neck, smiling. "Never." Still, he did—but not before pressing a kiss to my mouth. Once my feet were firmly back on the ground, I kissed him back. "I love you," he mumbled, his words lost to the kiss.

I twined our hands together, resting my head on his shoulder. "Love you too." His hands drifted to my waist, and mine to his shoulders. We started swaying, dancing beneath billions of stars. A quiet, rasping hum echoed from Percy's throat, committing a rhythm to our aimless motions. I was reminded of months ago after I'd saved him from Juno's interrogation, of slow-dancing in an abandoned parking lot. We'd barely even known each other, but something about him had drawn me in. Even then.

"We've come so far," I said suddenly. Percy's humming stopped, but we kept swaying. The breeze picked up, a whispering warmth that ruffled our hair and clothes.

He met my eyes. "I know," he said. "We're lucky."

I knew what he meant. There were a thousand things about our lives that made us unlucky, but I wouldn't change a single thing if it meant I lost this. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to my jaw, my cheek. Our kisses became fluid, a legato melody coaxed from a soft venture over piano keys.

Percy grinned, pulling away. He took my hand, pulling me towards the foaming shoreline. "Come on!"

I resisted at first, but soon gave in with laughing acceptance. Shrieking, we crashed into the foaming, cool water. As it splashed over our bare ankles, Percy whirled me around in an easy pirouette. He pulled me back into his arms, latching onto my waist like he never wanted to let go. We stared at each other a little helplessly. Moonlight reflected off the waves and up onto his face, painting his features in shifting silver.

His thumb brushed over my cheekbone. "Can we live in this moment?" he asked, fervent.

I was in a daze. Had my surrender been conscious, or not? I wove a hand through his salt-stiffened hair, gently tugging him down for another kiss. Against his lips, I murmured, "We can try."

* * *

 **And that's a wrap, everyone! I'm both in denial and in shock that we've finally reached the end. Can you believe that this fic has been a YEAR AND A HALF in the making?! I feel like I've just stumbled off a rollercoaster, feeling nauseous but giddy enough to want to do it all over again.**

 **I had a lot of fun writing this epilogue—it's the culmination of all the blood, sweat and tears I've poured into this fic. It felt so great giving Percy and Annabeth the happy ending they deserve. I tried to make it seem realistic; after being through so much, they still have a lot of healing to do. Hopefully I wrapped up all the other characters' stories in a good way as well! Piper's arc was one of the first things I planned when I first started cobbling together a (very messy) outline and her character continues to be one of my favourite things about this fic.**

 **If you vibe with my writing, you could go check out my other fic Body Gold! It's a long two-shot with plenty of percabeth, angst and excitement. I also have poetry on here, if that's your thing! I'm working on a million things right now, but high priority is a fic in which Percy is a fallen angel and also a cute yet angsty five feet apart au.**

 **Reminder: the aesthetic board for this fic is on Pinterest at my account** _ **suicidal_stolen_art.**_

 **Finally, thank you SO much to everybody who's been reading and supporting this fic! Each of your reviews gives me the motivation and validation I need to keep writing and improving. My writing has gotten infinitely better and more self-aware since I uploaded the first chapter—not to mention my style has changed, though it isn't super noticeable as I tried to keep it consistent. I don't think I'll ever write a fic in first person POV again lmao.**

 **Feedback is what fuels my desire to write and I cannot stress enough how much I love everyone who has reviewed/will review my work. SERIOUSLY. YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING.**


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